“Of course not,” said Prosper; “ye see, it's only a matter 'twixt you and me.” Mrs. Pottinger looked at Prosper, drew a deep breath, and then gazed at the abelone shells for moral support. A smile, half querulous, half superior, crossed her face as she said: “This is very abrupt and unusual. There is, of course, a disparity in our ages! You have never seen me before--at least to my knowledge--although you may have heard of me. The Spraggs of Marblehead are well known--perhaps better than the Pottingers. And yet, Mr. Griggs”-- “Riggs,” suggested Prosper hurriedly. “Riggs. Excuse me! I was thinking of young Lieutenant Griggs of the Navy, whom I knew in the days now past. Mr. Riggs, I should say. Then you want me to”-- “To be my old mother, ma'am,” said Prosper tremblingly. “That is, to pretend and look ez ef you was! You see, I haven't any, but I thought it would be nice for the boys, and make it more like home in my new house, ef I allowed that my old mother would be comin' to live with me. They don't know I never had a mother to speak of. They'll never find it out! Say ye will, Mrs. Pottinger! Do!” And here the unexpected occurred. Against all conventional rules and all accepted traditions of fiction, I am obliged to state that Mrs. Pottinger did NOT rise up and order the trembling Prosper to leave the house! She only gripped the arm of her chair a little tighter, leaned forward, and disdaining her usual precision and refinement of speech, said quietly: “It's a bargain. If THAT'S what you're wanting, my son, you can count upon me as becoming your old mother, Cecilia Jane Pottinger Riggs, every time!” A few days later the sentimentalist Joe Wynbrook walked into the Wild Cat saloon, where his comrades were drinking, and laid a letter down on the bar with every expression of astonishment and disgust. “Look,” he said, “if that don't beat all! Ye wouldn't believe it, but here's Prossy Riggs writin' that he came across his mother--his MOTHER, gentlemen--in 'Frisco; she hevin', unbeknownst to him, joined a party visiting the coast! And what does this blamed fool do? Why, he's goin' to bring her--that old woman--HERE! Here--gentlemen--to take charge of that new house--and spoil our fun. And the God-forsaken idiot thinks that we'll LIKE it!”