"I suppose the reason why women cry at weddings and men feel glum is that they know what the bride's in for," he remarked, gloomily. Epstein grunted. "You an' me is bachelors," he reminded the momentarily cynical youth. "Ve should vorry!" "What I'm worrying about is Laurie," Bangs admitted. Epstein turned to him with awakened interest. "Vell," he demanded, "what about Laurie? He's all right, ain't he?" "His sister has always kept a collar and leash on Laurie," Bangs reminded him, "and Laurie has needed them both. Now she's off for Japan on a four-months' honeymoon. The leash and collar are off, too. It's going to be mighty interesting and rather anxious business for us to see what a chap like Laurie does with his new freedom. His nature hasn't changed in a year, you see, though his circumstances have," he added, slowly. "And all his promises to Barbara are off. His year of probation is over." Epstein grunted again. He was fond of saying that he loved Bangs and Laurie as if they were the sons he had never had; but he was not given to analysis of himself or others, and he had little patience with it. His reply showed a tolerance unusual in him. "Vell, ve keep an eye on him, don't ve?" he predicted. Bangs frowned. "We'll have to do it mighty carefully," he muttered. "If Devon catches us at it, he won't leave us an eye to keep on anything!" Epstein grunted again. "Ve keep him busy," he suggested, eagerly. "Start him right avay on another play. Eh? That's the idea!" Bangs shook his head. "That's it," he conceded. "But Laurie has decided that he won't work again, just yet. He says he's tired and wants a few months' rest. Besides, he thinks America will declare war before the winter's over. He's going to volunteer as soon as it does, and he doesn't want any loose ends dragging here, any half-finished plays, for example." Epstein looked worried. This was serious news. Without allowing him time to recover from it, Bangs administered a second jolt. "And of course, in that case," he added simply, "I'd volunteer, too." Under the double blow Epstein's head and shoulders went down. He knew in that moment what even he himself had sometimes doubted, that his boasted love for the boys was deep and sincere. Few fathers could have experienced a more poignant combination of pride and pain than that which shook him now. But he remained, as always, inarticulate. "Oh, vell," he said vaguely, "I guess ve meet all that if it comes, eh? Ve needn't go to it to-day."