"I do like him so much, Dad! He talked to me upstairs about his school and all the boys there. He was very kind to me. Do you think I’m too little for him to like me? I’m growing rather fast, you know. I’d do anything for him, anything. I wish you’d tell him that. Will you?" "Yes, I will, dear. Now, run upstairs to Janet." "Shall I say good night to Jim again?" "If you like. But don’t kiss him, or you’ll scare him." They both had a confidential and silent fit of laughter over this; then the child slid from his knees, dropped a hasty, confused curtsey in Jim’s direction, turned and scampered upstairs. And a gale of laughter came floating out of the nursery, silenced as Janet shut the door. The subdued glow of a lamp fell over father and son; undulating strata of smoke drifted between them from the elder man’s cigar. "Well, Jim?" "Yes, Father." "Do you like her?" "She’s a—funny girl.... Yes, she’s a rather nice little kid." "We’ll stand by her, won’t we, Jim?" "Yes, sir." "Make up to her the lost days—the cruellest injustice that can be inflicted—the loss of a happy childhood." "Yes, sir." "All right, old chap. Now, tell me all about yourself and what has happened since you wrote." "I had a fight." "With whom, Jim?" "With Oswald Grismer, of the first form." "What did he do to you?" inquired his father. "He said something—about a girl." "What girl?" "I don’t know her." "Go on." "Nothing.... Except I told him what I thought of him." "For what? For speaking disrespectfully about a girl you never met?" "Yes, sir." "Oh. Go on." "Nothing more, sir.... Except that we mixed it." "I see. Did you—hold your own?" "They said—I think I did, sir." "Grismer is—your age? Younger? Older?" "Yes, sir, older." "How do you and he weigh in?" "He’s—I believe—somewhat heavier." "First form boy. Naturally. Well, did you shake hands?" "No, sir." "That’s bad, Jim." "I know it. I—somehow—couldn’t." "Do it next term. No use to fight unless to settle things." The boy remained silent, and his father did not press the matter. "What shall we do to-morrow, Jim?" inquired Cleland Senior, after a long pause. "Do you mean just you and me, Father?" "Oh, yes. Steve will be busy with her lessons. And, in the evening, nine-thirty is her bedtime." The boy said, with a sigh of unconscious relief: "I need a lot of things. We’ll go to the shops first. Then we’ll lunch together, then we can take in a movie, then we’ll dine all by ourselves, and then go to the theatre. What do you say, Father?" "Fine!" said his father, with the happy thrill which comes to fathers whose growing sons still prefer their company to the company of anybody else. *CHAPTER VI* To Cleland Senior it seemed as though Jim’s Easter vacation ended before it had fairly begun; so swiftly sped the blessed days together.