“She’ll never miss that ounce,” thought Billy.
When they got up from the table and started for the living-room, Mr. Bowen found himself walking beside Aunt Harriet, who had been so silent during dinner that he had all but forgotten her.
“Well, Miss McDonald,” he said, “it’s certainly a big family, isn’t it?”
“Well, young man,” said Aunt Harriet, “it ain’t no small family, that’s sure.”
“I should say not,” repeated Billy.
Walter and his giggling crush intercepted him.
“What do you think of Aunt Harriet’s grammar?” demanded Walter.
“I didn’t notice it,” lied Billy.
“No, I s’pose not. ‘Ain’t no small family.’ I s’pose you didn’t notice it. She isn’t a real aunt like Aunt Louise and Aunt Mary. She’s just an adopted aunt. She kept house for dad and Aunt Louise after their mother died, and when dad got married, she just kept on living with Aunt Louise.”
“Oh,” was Billy’s fresh comment, and it brought forth a fresh supply of giggles from Kathryn.
Ellen had already been made aware of Billy’s disgusting plans. He had to catch a night train for St. Louis, and he would be there all day tomorrow, and he’d be back Friday, but he wouldn’t have time to see her, and he’d surely call her up. And Friday afternoon he was going to South Bend to spend Christmas Day with his married sister, because it was probably the last Christmas he’d be able to spend with her.
“But I’ll hustle home from South Bend Sunday morning,” he said. “And don’t you dare make any engagement for the afternoon.”
“I do wish you could be with us Christmas Eve. The tree won’t be a bit of fun without you.”
“You know I wish I could. But you see how it is.”
“I think your sister’s mean.”
Billy didn’t deny it.
“Who’s going to be here Christmas Eve?”
“Just the people we had tonight, except Kathryn and you. Why?”
“Oh, nothing,” said Billy.
“Look here, sir,” said his betrothed. “Don’t you do anything foolish. You’re not supposed to buy presents for the whole family. Just a little, tiny one for me, if you want to, but you mustn’t spend much on it. And if you get anything for anyone else in this house, I’ll be mad.”
“I’d like to see you mad,” said Billy.
“You’d wish you hadn’t,” Ellen retorted.
When Billy had gone, Ellen returned to the living-room and faced the assembled company.
“Well,” she said, “now that you’ve all seen him, what’s the verdict?”
The verdict seemed to be unanimously in his favor.
“But,” said Bob, “I thought you said he was so screamingly funny.”
“Yes,” said Edith, “you told me that, too.”
“Give him a chance,” said Ellen. “Wait till he’s in a funny mood. You’ll simply die laughing!”
V
It is a compound fracture of the rules to have so important a character as Tommy Richards appear in only one chapter. But remember, this isn’t a regular story, but a simple statement of what occurred when it occurred. During Chapter Four, Tommy had been on his way home from the Pacific Coast, where business had kept him all fall. His business out there and what he said en route to Chicago are collateral.
Tommy had been Billy’s pal at college. Tommy’s home was in Minnesota, and Billy was his most intimate, practically his only friend in the so-called metropolis of the Middle West. So Tommy, not knowing that Billy had gone to St. Louis, looked forward to a few pleasant hours with him between the time of the coast train’s arrival and the Minnesota train’s departure.
The coast train reached Chicago about noon. It was Thursday noon, the twenty-third. Tommy hustled from the station to Billy’s office, and there learned of the St. Louis trip. Disappointed, he roamed the streets a while and at length dropped into the downtown ticket office of his favorite Minnesota road. He was told that everything for the night was sold out. Big Christmas business. Tommy pondered.
The coast train reached Chicago about noon. It was Thursday noon, the twenty-third.
“How about tomorrow night?” he inquired.
“I can give you a lower tomorrow night on the six-thirty,” replied Leslie Painter, that being the clerk’s name.
“I’ll take it,” said Tommy.
He did so, and the clerk took $10.05.
“I’ll see old Bill after all,” said Tommy.
Leslie Painter made no reply.
In the afternoon Tommy sat through a vaudeville show, and at night he looped the loop. He retired early, for the next day promised to be a big one.
Billy got in from St. Louis at seven Friday morning and had been in his office an hour when Tommy appeared. I have no details of the meeting.
At half-past eight Tommy suggested that they’d better go out and h’ist one.
“Still on it, eh?” said Billy.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I’m off of it.”
“Good Lord! For how long?”
“The last day of November.”
“Too long! You look sick already.”
“I feel great,” averred Billy.
“Well, I don’t. So come along and bathe in vichy.”
On the way “along” Billy told Tommy about Ellen. Tommy’s congratulations were physical and jarred Billy from head to heels.
“Good stuff!” cried Tommy so loudly that three pedestrians jumped sideways. “Old Bill hooked! And do you think you’re going to celebrate this occasion with water?”
“I think I am,” was Billy’s firm reply.
“You think you are! What odds?”
“A good lunch against a red hot.”
“You’re on!” said Tommy. “And I’m going to be mighty hungry at one o’clock.”
“You’ll be hungry and alone.”
“What’s the idea? If you’ve got a lunch date with the future, I’m in on it.”
“I haven’t,” said Billy. “But I’m going to South Bend on the one-forty, and between now and then I have nothing to do but clean up my mail and buy a dozen Christmas presents.”
They turned in somewhere.
“Don’t you see the girl at all today?” asked Tommy.
“Not today. All I do is call her up.”
“Well, then, if you get outside of a couple, who’ll
