“Yes, in the manner in which you acted. Your father wouldn't have lost his temper and called people names. Gentlemen, my dear boy, don't do that sort of thing. They make up their minds about what they want to do and then do it quietly, and, let me say, with a certain amount of courtesy.” “Then, what must I do?” All the fight was out of the lad now. “Why, go back to your desk in the office and your very delightful suite of rooms at your uncle's. Tell him you are sorry you let your feelings get the best of you; then, when you have entirely quieted down, you and I will put our heads together and see what can be done to improve matters. And that, let me tell you, my dear boy, is going to be rather a difficult thing, for you see you are rather particular as to what you should and should not do to earn your living.” Peter's wrinkles had now crept up his cheeks and were playing hide and seek with the twinkles in his eyes. “Of course any kind of healthy work--such, for instance, as hauling a chain through a swamp, carrying a level, prospecting for oil, or copper, or gold--all very respectable occupations for some men--are quite impossible in your case. But we will think it out and find something easier--something that won't soil your hands, and--” “Please don't, Mr. Grayson,” interrupted Jack. The boy had begun to see through the raillery now. “I will do anything you want me to do.” Peter burst into a laugh and grabbed him by both shoulders: “Of course, my dear boy, you will do anything except what you believe to be wrong. That's right--right as can be; nobody wants you to do any different, and--” The opening of a door leading into the hall caused Peter to stop in his harangue and turn his head. Mrs. McGuffey was ushering in a young woman whose radiant face was like a burst of sunshine. Peter strained his eyes and then sprang forward: “Why, Ruth!” There was no doubt about it! That young woman, her cheeks like two June peonies, her eyes dancing, the daintiest and prettiest hat in the world on her head, was already half across the room and close to Peter's rug before Jack could even realize that he and she were breathing the same air. “Oh! I just could not wait a minute longer!” she cried in a joyous tone. “I had such a good time yesterday, dear aunt Felicia, and--Why!--it is you, Mr. Breen, and have you come to tell aunty the same thing? Wasn't it lovely?”