Whereat Ellen blushed, and Billy’s unbelief strengthened.
At this crisis, the Case burst into the room with his hat on. He removed it at sight of the caller and awkwardly advanced to be introduced.
“I’m going to bed,” he announced, after the formality.
“I hoped,” said Ellen, “you’d tell us about the latest. Who is it now? Beth?”
“Beth nothing!” scoffed the Case. “We split up the day of the Keewatin game.”
“What was the matter?” asked his sister.
“I’m going to bed,” said the Case. “It’s pretty near midnight.”
“By George, it is!” exclaimed Billy. “I didn’t dream it was that late!”
“No,” said Walter. “That’s what I tell dad—the clock goes along some when you’re having a good time.”
Billy and Ellen looked shyly at each other, and then laughed; laughed harder, it seemed to Walter, than the joke warranted. In fact, he hadn’t thought of it as a joke. If it was that good, he’d spring it on Kathryn tomorrow night. It would just about clinch her.
The Case, carrying out his repeated threat, went to bed and dreamed of Kathryn. Fifteen minutes later Ellen retired to dream of Billy. And an hour later than that, Billy was dreaming of Ellen, who had become suddenly popular with him, even if she hadn’t been so at Northampton, which he didn’t believe.
IV
They saw The Follies Friday night. A criticism of the show by either would have been the greatest folly of all. It is doubtful that they could have told what theatre they’d been to ten minutes after they’d left it. From wherever it was, they walked to a dancing place and danced. Ellen was so far gone that she failed to note the change in Billy’s trotting. Foxes would have blushed for shame at its awkwardness and lack of variety. If Billy was a splendid dancer, he certainly did not prove it this night. All he knew or cared to know was that he was with the girl he wanted. And she knew only that she was with Billy, and happy.
On the drive home, the usual superfluous words were spoken. They were repeated inside the storm-door at Ellen’s father’s house, while the taxi driver, waiting, wondered audibly why them suckers of explorers beat it to the Pole to freeze when the North Side was so damn handy.
Ellen’s father was out of town. So in the morning she broke the news to mother and Aunt Mary, and then sat down and wrote it to Edith and Wilma. Next she called up Bob’s wife in Evanston, and after that she hurried to the next block and sprang it on Aunts Louise and Harriet. It was decided that Walter had better not be told. He didn’t know how to keep a secret. Walter, therefore, was in ignorance till he got home from school. The only person he confided in the same evening was Kathryn, who was the only person he saw.
Bob and his wife and Aunts Louise and Harriet came to Sunday dinner, but were chased home early in the afternoon. Mr. McDonald was back and Billy was coming to talk to him. It would embarrass Billy to death to find such a crowd in the house. They’d all meet him soon, never fear, and when they met him, they’d be crazy about him. Bob and Aunt Mary and mother would like him because he was so bright and said such screaming things, and the rest would like him because he was so well-read and sensible, and so horribly good-looking.
Billy, I said, was coming to talk to Mr. McDonald. When he came, he did very little of the talking. He stated the purpose of his visit, told what business he was in and affirmed his ability to support a wife. Then he assumed the role of audience while Ellen’s father delivered an hour’s lecture. The speaker did not express his opinion of Tyrus Cobb or the Kaiser, but they were the only subjects he overlooked. Sobriety and industry were words frequently used.
“I don’t care,” he prevaricated, in conclusion, “how much money a man is making if he is sober and industrious. You attended college, and I presume you did all the fool things college boys do. Some men recover from their college education, others don’t. I hope you’re one of the former.”
The Sunday-night supper, just cold scraps you might say, was partaken of by the happy but embarrassed pair, the trying-to-look happy but unembarrassed parents, and Aunt Mary. Walter, the Case, was out. He had stayed home the previous evening.
“He’ll be here tomorrow night and the rest of the week, or I’ll know the reason why,” said Mr. McDonald.
“He won’t, and I’ll tell you the reason why,” said Ellen.
“He’s a real boy, Sam,” put in the real boy’s mother. “You can’t expect him to stay home every minute.”
“I can’t expect anything of him,” said the father. “You and the girls and Mary here have let him have his own way so long that he’s past managing. When I was his age, I was in my bed at nine o’clock.”
“Morning or night?” asked Ellen.
Her father scowled. It was evident he could not take a joke, not even a good one.
After the cold scraps had been ruined, Mr. McDonald drew Billy into the smoking-room and offered him a cigar. The prospective son-in-law was about to refuse and express a preference for cigarettes when something told him not to. A moment later he was deeply grateful to the something.
“I smoke three cigars a day,” said the oracle, “one after each meal. That amount of smoking will hurt nobody. More than that is too much. I used to smoke to excess, four or five cigars per day, and maybe a pipe or two. I found it was affecting my health, and I cut down. Thank heaven, no one in my family ever got the cigarette habit; disease, rather. How any sane, clean-minded man can start on those things is beyond me.”
“Me, too,” agreed Billy, taking the
