they would have to make the best of it, and the eldest wrote down
“Claude Wheeler” with a flourish.
If the Erlich boys were apprehensive, their anxiety was nothing
to Claude’s. He was to take Mrs. Erlich to Madame
Schroeder-Schatz’s recital, and on the evening of the concert,
when he appeared at the door, the boys dragged him in to look him
over. Otto turned on all the lights, and Mrs. Erlich, in her new
black lace over white satin, fluttered into the parlour to see
what figure her escort cut.
Claude pulled off his overcoat as he was bid, and presented
himself in the sooty blackness of fresh broadcloth. Mrs. Erlich’s
eyes swept his long black legs, his smooth shoulders, and lastly
his square red head, affectionately inclined toward her. She
laughed and clapped her hands.
“Now all the girls will turn round in their seats to look, and
wonder where I got him!”
Claude began to bestow her belongings in his overcoat pockets;
opera glasses in one, fan in another. She put a lorgnette into
her little bag, along with her powder-box, handkerchief and
smelling salts,—there was even a little silver box of peppermint
drops, in case she might begin to cough. She drew on her long
gloves, arranged a lace scarf over her hair, and at last was
ready to have the evening cloak which Claude held wound about
her. When she reached up and took his arm, bowing to her sons,
they laughed and liked Claude better. His steady, protecting air
was a frame for the gay little picture she made.
The dinner party came off the next evening. The guest of honour,
Madame Wilhelmina Schroeder-Schatz, was some years younger than
her cousin, Augusta Erlich. She was short, stalwart, with an
enormous chest, a fine head, and a commanding presence. Her great
contralto voice, which she used without much discretion, was a
really superb organ and gave people a pleasure as substantial as
food and drink. At dinner she sat on the right of the oldest son.
Claude, beside Mrs. Erlich at the other end of the table, watched
attentively the lady attired in green velvet and blazing
rhinestones.
After dinner, as Madame Schroeder-Schatz swept out of the dining
room, she dropped her cousin’s arm and stopped before Claude, who
stood at attention behind his chair.
“If Cousin Augusta can spare you, we must have a little talk
together. We have been very far separated,” she said.
She led Claude to one of the window seats in the living-room, at
once complained of a draft, and sent him to hunt for her green
scarf. He brought it and carefully put it about her shoulders;
but after a few moments, she threw it off with a slightly annoyed
air, as if she had never wanted it. Claude with solicitude
reminded her about the draft.
“Draft?” she said lifting her chin, “there is no draft here.”
She asked Claude where he lived, how much land his father owned,
