He went out with the note in his hand to telephone his acceptance to the telegraph office. When he had shut himself in with the telephone she laughed; a light, mirthless laugh. CHAPTER XVII MRS. CRAIGHILL BIDES AT HOME Wayne and Dick Wingfield breakfasted at the Club on the morning of their return. Notwithstanding Colonel Craighill’s skepticism as to the purpose of their excursion, they had really been to Philadelphia to a Mask and Wig entertainment of University men. Wingfield had watched with interest Wayne’s prolonged abstinence and wondered whether it could be possible that his friend had really reformed. Wingfield, himself most abstemious, had been careful not to place temptation in his friend’s way; and he had taken Wayne to Philadelphia the better to keep track of him at a time when, he knew by experience, Wayne was likely to make one of his mad plunges. They discussed the morning news as they ate. “I note that your father has shot a broadside into the administration up at Boston. Here are a few yards of the speech.” “Humph!” grunted Wayne. “Very likely you enjoyed private rehearsal of the oration, so it isn’t new to you.” “You flatter me. Father’s speeches are not a subject of family counsel.” “I suppose Mrs. Craighill will be a great help to your father in his public life.” “It’s possible,” remarked Wayne, buttering his toast. “She’s getting her first taste of reform now and will, no doubt, go in strong for such things when she gets back.” “It would be a shame to reform this town; it would be so much less interesting if it turned virtuous. Really, I think I should leave the place if it got good. By the way, how about our friend, Paddock, the fighting parson? Did you know that mother has taken him up? Paddock’s self-sacrifice and devotion to humanity are on the table daily at home--served hot with all meals.” “Paddock’s all right. He’s a good fellow, but he’s overloaded with sentimentalism. I don’t believe I told you I had been out to look at his joint at Ironstead.” “You did not, Mr. Craighill. Were you ashamed of me, or were you just afraid I’d contaminate the place?” “I was afraid you would be bored. I took some risks myself, but it didn’t seem decent to refuse when I’m the oldest friend he has here. It was like the chap to come to town and bury himself in the grime and filth for six months before I heard of him. But I went to his religious vaudeville, which was rather below par as shows go; but the crowd was better than the bill, and you might say, in classic phrase, that a pleasant time was had.” “Recitations, songs and that kind of things?” “And a boxing-match that almost ended in a riot.”