“You can’t get a girl in Hardiston that’s worth more than three dollars,” Mrs. Chase insisted. “They come and they go, and they’re always getting married, and--” Mr. Chase always carved the meats at his own table. He took pride in his carving. When Wint appeared now, he looked up with a hostile eye, at the same time lifting the carving knife and fork. “You’re late, young man.” “Am I?” said Wint stiffly. “The dinner hour in this house is five-thirty. If you wish to have your meals here, you would do well to observe that fact and regulate your movements in accordance.” “Oh, give the boy his supper,” Mrs. Chase urged. “You get me all mixed up, calling supper dinner and dinner lunch that way, Winthrop. Wint, don’t you mind what your father says. He--” “Margaret,” said Mr. Chase sternly, “I wish you would--” “I went to the station to meet Caretall,” said Wint slowly. “Sorry to be late. But--” “Caretall?” his father echoed sharply. “You--” “Now, Wint--don’t aggravate your father,” Mrs. Chase urged. “You will drive me to--” “Hetty, pass my son’s plate,” directed the elder Chase, discovering the girl in the doorway. “Your place is in the kitchen while the meals are being served, not in the hall.” “All right,” said Hetty cheerfully, and she took Wint’s plate and went around the table to his father’s side. Thus relieved of the elder Chase’s scrutiny, she winked lightly at Wint and smiled. He made no response. A moment later, she set his plate before him, and departed toward the kitchen. Mrs. Chase began at once to talk. Her eating did not seem to interfere with the gently querulous stream of her conversation. She spoke of many things. Housekeeping cares, the perplexities and annoyances of the day, the acquisition of Hetty, her hope that Hetty would prove a good girl, a good cook, a good housemaid. “She’s not going to go home at night, either,” she explained. “When girls go home at night, they’re never here in time to get breakfast. When I have a girl, I want her in the house, so’s I can see she gets up. She--” The elder Chase interrupted obliviously. He had been studying his son. “Wint, have you been drinking to-day?” he demanded. Wint looked up quickly, a retort on his lips. But he checked it, and instead said quietly: “No.” “Oh, Wint,” Mrs. Chase exclaimed, “you ain’t going to do any more of that, are you, son? You--” “I’m keeping my eye on you, young man,” interrupted her husband. “You left the office early to-day. Who gave you permission?” “The work was done.” “The work is never done.” “You left before I did.” The elder Chase’s eyes flashed. “My movements have nothing to do with it. Your place is at the office till four-thirty every day. Don’t imagine, because you’re my son, you’ll receive any favoritism.” “It seems to work the other way,” said Wint.