“Of course,” Maida assented, but her lip trembled and her eyes showed signs of ready tears. “Cheer up,” Genevieve babbled on. “I’m your friend—whatever comes with time!” “So am I,” put in Curtis Keefe. “Good-bye for a few days, Miss Wheeler.” How Maida did it, she scarcely knew herself, but she forced a smile, and even when Samuel Appleby gave her a warning glance at parting she bravely responded to his farewell words, and even gaily waved her hand as the car rolled down the drive. Once out of earshot, Appleby broke out: “I played my trump card! No, you needn’t ask me what I was, for I don’t propose to tell you. But it will take the trick, I’m sure. Why, it’s got to!” “It must be something pretty forcible, then,” said Keefe, “for it looked to me about as likely as snow in summertime, that any of those rigid Puritans would ever give in an inch to your persuasions.” “Or mine,” added Genevieve. “Never before have I failed so utterly to make any headway when I set out to be really persuasive.” “You did your best, Miss Lane,” and Appleby looked at her with the air of one appraising the efficiency of a salesman. “I confess I didn’t think Wheeler would be quite such a hardshell—after all these years.” “He’s just like concrete,” Keefe observed. “They all are. I didn’t know there were such conscientious people left in this wicked old world!” “They’re not really in the world,” Appleby declared. “They’ve merely vegetated in that house of theirs, never going anywhere——” “Oh, come now, Mr. Appleby,” and Genevieve shook her head, “Boston isn’t the only burg on the planet! They often go to New York, and that’s going some!” “Not really often—I asked Wheeler. He hasn’t been for five or six years, and though Maida goes occasionally, to visit friends, she soon runs back home to her father.” “It doesn’t matter,” Keefe said, “they’re by no means mossbacks or hayseeds. They’re right there with the goods, when it comes to modern literature or up-to-date news——” “Oh, yes, they’re a highbrow bunch,” Appleby spoke impatiently; “but a recluse like that is no sort of a man! The truth is, I’m at the end of my patience! I’ve got to put this thing over with less palaver and circumlocution. I thought I’d give him a chance—just put the thing up to him squarely once—and, as he doesn’t see fit to meet me half-way, he’s got to be the loser, that’s all.” “He seems to be the loser, as it is.” This from Keefe. “But nothing to what’s coming to him! Why, the idea of my sparing him at all is ridiculous! If he doesn’t come down, he’s got to be wiped out! That’s what it amounts to!” “Wiped out—how?”