Andrew the Glad

"Why," answered the completely floored Kildare, "I just haven't any idea

on the subject. Everybody was laughing about it--and isn't it--er--a

little funny?"

"No," answered Phoebe emphatically, "it isn't _funny_ and if you begin to

laugh everybody else will. It may hurt Milly, she is so gentle and dear,

and you are their best friend. I won't have it! I won't! I'm tired,

anyway, of having fun made of all the sacred things in life. All of us

swing around in a silly whirl and when a woman like Mildred begins to

live her life in a--er--natural way, we--ridicule! She is brave and

strong and works hard; and she has the _real_ things of life and makes

the sacrifices for them. While we--"

"Oh, heavenly hope, Phoebe!" gasped David Kildare, "don't rub it in! I

see it now--a lot of magazine stuff jogging the women up about the kids

and all--and here Milly is a hero and we--the jolly fun-pokers. I've got

to help 'em some way! Wish Billy Bob would sell me this last bunch; guess

he would--one, anyway?" And the contrite David gazed down at Phoebe in

whose upturned eyes there dawned a wealth of mirth.

"David," she said, perhaps more softly than she had ever spoken to him in

all the days of his pursuit, "I know--I felt sure that you felt all right

about it. I couldn't bear to have you say or do--"

"Now, I'll 'fess a thing to you that I didn't think wild horses could

drag out of me, Phoebe. I was down there an hour ago in the back hall of

that flat and Billy Bob let me hold the pair of 'em and squeeze 'em. I

guess we both--just shed a few, you know, because he was so excited. Men

are such slobs at times--when women don't know about it." And David

winked fiercely at the early electric light that glowed warm against the

winter sky.

"And you are a very dear boy, David," said Phoebe softly as her hand

slipped out of her muff and dropped into his and rested there for just

one enchanting half-second. "Dearer than you know in some ways. No, don't

think of coming up with me, you've paid your visit of welcome. Good

night! Yes, I think so--in the afternoon about three o'clock and we can

go on to Mrs. Pepton's reception. Good night again!"

"Phoebe," he called after her, "the one with the yellow fuzz is the girl,

buy her for me if you can flimflam Milly into it! Any old price, you

know. Hurrah, America for the Anglo-Saxons! Hurrah for Milly and Dixie!"