“All right then, don’t, you big selfish brute!” He moved away from the door and his eyes fell on David’s clothing scattered generously over the study. Picking up the coat he abstracted a bill-roll from a pocket and helped himself to a five-dollar note. Then he hid the coat under the couch and went back to the bathroom door. “Little Phillip may act naughty, Davy, and so I’ve borrowed a fiver from you to buy him candy.” “Better get him a bottle,” gurgled David. “Farewell, Davy. I’ll see you later. I’ve got tickets for the Hollis. So don’t run away.” On the street John found that the unseasonable heat had moderated somewhat. As he turned into Boylston Street a faint breeze, redolent of the marshes, blew into his face and caused him to tilt his hat away from his sunburned forehead. In front of the post-office he was hailed by an acquaintance, one Broom, a member of the Eleven. “I hear you’re going to help coach this fall, North?” “First I’ve heard of it,” answered John. “Though I found a note in my mail that rather bears out your statement, Pete. But I don’t know whether I’ll have time for it.” “Rot, my boy, rot! It doesn’t require time; any old fool can coach a football team.” “On the principle that it takes a fool to teach a fool, eh?” “Sure. Where are you going? Come on ’round to the drug store and drink cooling draughts.” John groaned and shook his head. “Can’t, Pete. I’m a foster-mother.” “A _what_?” “Foster-mother. Good-by!” “You’re an idiot, you mean. Come around to the hovel soon.” “All right.” John brought forth the fateful letter and made sure of the address he was seeking. At least, he thought, it had the merit of accessibility, for it was just around the corner. It proved to be an old-fashioned residence, two stories and a half in height, with a porch running across the front. It was painted a peculiarly depressing shade of gray, but for all that, and despite the fact that the front door opened almost from the sidewalk, it was homelike and even attractive; and was plainly a house with a history. Its dignity was somewhat marred by two placards in the front windows advertising “Student Rooms to Let” and “Table Board.” It faced a little square of comforting trees, grass and shrubbery, and from the porch a bit of the river could be seen. An express wagon piled high with trunks stood at the curb. John ascended the steps and rang the bell. The front door was broad and substantial and was flanked by sidelights, while a dusty fanlight above hinted at the splendour of olden days. “I wonder,” mused John, “just which Revolutionary general made his headquarters here. I don’t see any tablet; very careless of the Historical Society.”