A BAYARD OF BROADWAY
The older man stopped dead. A weary despair of the whole business seized him. It was all up, then. Even if he went about with the boy, which Bob would hardly allow, his condition next morning would be all too apparent. And then Uncle Owen would wash his hands of it all. Aunt Sarah would never consent to any institutional cure. Helena would never marry while Bob needed her—thank God, she had never suspected the woman!
As if in answer to his thoughts. Bob complained loudly:
"I say it's a blamed shame, the first time I go out with a girl to enjoy the evening, to have you pokin' in, Dill! Always stuck with the fellows before; and now I get a girl, like anybody else, and here you come! Why don't you get out? Two's company."
Dillon caught his arm.
"Bob," he said beseechingly, "you don't know what you're doing. Surely you know what this means! Don't you remember that the Eider-duck sails to-morrow at nine? Don't you realise that by
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