So Quincy went up to his room. He did not take out his toy engine or his soldiers. He knew he should not be able to do his vacation homework. For some strange reason, he was prompted to look at Hercules and Venus. But mostly, he waited. Waiting was by now the atmosphere he lived in. His mood had grown so wide, he scarcely noticed it, for want of something to contrast it with. His strain toward Jonas had grown so intense, he scarce saw him, felt him, thought of him any longer. His subconscious mind seemed to be the active one. So he merely waited, doing few external things, aware of few external qualities. And among those that went were time and Jonas. All that remained was the abstract waiting for him. And then, a noise below. For a moment, it meant nothing. Then it flashed on him palpably that Jonas had arrived! He rushed to the door. He was downstairs. Jonas was before him. “Brother!” he cried, aching to be caught up. Jonas looked down at the intrusion. “Oh, hello, Kid. How are you?” He had outgrown kissing. He threw his coat on a chair, lounged into another, lighted a cigarette and then went on: “Say, Ma--I’m hungry.” * * * * * If there was a shred of hope left, it went that evening. The scene took place directly after supper. It took place before Quincy. And, most horrible of all, Quincy was its cause. Jonas objected to sharing a room during his vacation with a twelve year old child. That was the crux. He explained amply what he meant. He had had a different sort of a room-mate at school. He was sorry now, that he had not accepted his invitation to go with him to Chicago. He’d not have been placed in the nursery, _there_. When fellows came home from “work” at Christmas, their families were expected to be a little considerate of them. Some had their breakfasts served in bed. He didn’t demand that. He wasn’t selfish. But there were certain indignities one had to draw the line at! He was not proposing to spend his vacation by going to bed with the chickens--or the babies. He expected to have “late dates” every night; “late sleeps” every morning. He did not wish to be disturbed. He was used to smoking in his bedroom, before sleep, before arising. This also, was a habit dear to his manhood. But, most important of all arguments, he simply _would not have it_! If the Kid stayed where he was, he, Jonas, would wire to his chum and take the sleeper to Chicago. Just watch and see if he didn’t! Didn’t he have cash enough in his pocket? All this, Quincy heard, sitting quiet and alone in a corner, while his hero paced the floor, using his name, ignoring his presence, soiling his soul. And now, Rhoda chimed in, agreeing. And now they all agreed! The broad sofa in the parental room was to be improvised at once into a bed. This would do for Quincy, during the vacation.