“Oh, no. Please don’t! I’m disappointed; I thought you had advised me to be good and marry and settle down.” “Marry! That girl? Wayne, you are impossible!” “Very likely; but the girl isn’t so impossible. I hadn’t thought of marrying her, but the idea doesn’t exactly terrify me. She’s an immensely interesting person--she haunts me like a theme in music. She’s poor and if I could save her from the pitfalls of art--the failures, the heartache of failing to arrive--that isn’t so impossible, is it?” “Yes, it’s absolutely out of the question. And if you don’t let her alone I’ll ship her back where she came from; just one more of these coincidences and I’ll do that. We’ve had enough marriages in the family, I hope, to last for some time.” “Ah! So this bitterness of spirit is not all for me? Has John taken to evil ways?” “What’s the matter at father’s? Why was Addie crying this morning when I went in to see her?” “I dare say she cried because you came, if you were as fierce as you are now.” “She had been crying and looked miserably unhappy.” “Probably a row with the cook. She isn’t used to keeping house. She’s going to Boston with the Colonel and that will set her up again.” Mrs. Blair was silent for a moment then flashed: “How much do you see of her?” “Precious little. Breakfast, and a glimpse sometimes as I go to my couch at night.” “You must leave the house; you must come and live with us at once,” declared Mrs. Blair with impressive finality. “Thanks!” Wayne laughed. “Do you think I tease my stepmother to make her cry? Do you think my moral example is bad for her? Addie snubs me every chance she gets. Only this morning at breakfast, while the Colonel read a papal encyclical or something equally exciting, Addie and I discussed the relative merits of country sausage and chocolate éclaires. To see me sitting at the breakfast table between the Colonel and my stepmother is edifying beyond any words. Addie is a good girl; I like Addie. But she isn’t in the same class with your protégée. Here’s the Club; shall I detach John McCandless from the sacred rye-pots and send him out?” “You know John never drinks; and he’s in Buffalo to-day.” “Then he will drink beyond any doubt; one must--in Buffalo!” While he stood chaffing her at the car door, she clasped his hand tightly and begged him to see her soon. As the car started a newsboy hailed Wayne familiarly from the street and Fanny saw her brother’s broad shoulders bent over the lad and his elbow crooked as he felt for a coin. How true it was that everyone liked Wayne! His generosity was boundless; the very recklessness and extravagance of his derelictions endeared him to many. As the Club door closed upon him the newsboy dashed off with an exultant shout on the wings of new fortune. CHAPTER XVI THE TRIP TO BOSTON