“Where did you get a reputation as a man of brains? There must be an awful crowd of simpletons in Wall Street.” Then she caught sight of her son and beckoned to him. “Come in and hold your father's head, Jimsy.” “Please don't call me Jimsy!” Jim exploded, prematurely. His mother did not hear him, because his father exploded at the same moment: “Come in and teach your mother how to be a sport. She won't play fair. She cheats all the time and has no shame when she gets caught. When she loses she won't pay, and when she wins she wants cash on the nail.” “Of course I do!” “Why, there isn't a club in the country that wouldn't expel you twice a week.” “Well, pay me what you owe me, before you die of apoplexy.” “How much do I owe you?” “Eight dollars and thirty-two cents.” “I do not! That's robbery. Look here: you omitted my score twice and added your own up wrong.” “Did I really?” “Do five and two make nine?” “Don't they?” “They do not!” “Well, must you have hydrophobia about it? What difference does it make?” “It makes the difference that I only owe you three dollars and twenty-six cents.” “All right, pay it and simmer down. Isn't he wonderful, Jimsy? He just sent a check for ten thousand dollars to the fund for blind French soldiers and then begrudges his poor wife five dollars.” “But that's charity and this is cards; and it's humiliating to think that you haven't learned addition yet.” Mrs. Dyckman winked at Jim and motioned him to sit beside her. He could not help thinking of the humiliating addition he was about to announce to the family. While his father counted out the change with a miserly accuracy he winked his off eye at Jim and growled, with a one-sided smile: “Where have you been for the past few days, and what mischief have you been up to? You have a guilty face.” But Mrs. Dyckman threw her great arm about his great shoulders, stared at him as she kissed him, and murmured: “You don't look happy. What's wrong?” Jim scraped his feet along the floor gawkily and mumbled: “Well, I suppose I'd better tell you. I was going to break it to you gently, but I don't know how.” Mrs. Dyckman took alarm at once. “Break it gently? Bad news? Oh, Jim, you Haven't gone and got yourself engaged to some fool girl, have you? Not that?” “Worse than that, mother!” “Oh dear! what could be worse? Only one thing, Jim! You haven't--you haven't married a circus-rider or a settlement-worker or anything like that, have you?” “No.” “Lord! what a relief! I breathe again.” Jim fired off his secret without further delay. “I've been married, though.” “Married? Already? Married to what? Anybody I ever heard of?” His mother was gasping in a dangerous approach to heart failure. Jim protested. “You never saw her, but she's a very nice girl. You'll love her when you meet her.”