SIR WATSON TYLER
"I suppose!" he said. "She'll be working the whole Janes family in on us." He snorted. "I'm glad some one's put something into his head besides eating and sleeping."
"Now, Tom," she pleaded, "you've got to be fair to Wat!"
'All right, Mary," he relented. "Run along and see Millie. I've had enough for one Sunday."
As for Alicia Janes, it was late at night when she made her report to her mother in a subdued tremble of excitement. She had overheard something of Wat's scuffle with Millie on the stairway, but she did not speak of it except to say: "I'm afraid the girls are awful. The youngest, Ollie, is overdressed and silly—with the manners of a spoiled child of ten. It's her mother's fault. She's one of those helpless big women. Wat must have got his qualities from his father."
"Did you find out why they hadn't called?"
"No-o. But I can guess."
"Yes?"
"Well, it isn't a nice thing to say, but I really think Wat's rather—as if he were ashamed of them. And I don't wonder, mother! Their front room's furnished with that— Oh, and such bric-à-brac!" She paused. She hesitated. She blushed. "Wat asked me if I'd— You know he had never really spoken before, although I knew he—"
Her mother said, softly, "Yes?"
She looked down at the worn carpet. "And I
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