"Yes. I don't want him to do that. It sounds awful."

"Well, it is. But it won't hurt Dickie any. He's used to it."

Babe, forgiving and demonstrative, here forgot the insult to Millings and
Jim Greely, put her arm round Sheila, and went down the stairs, squeezing
the smaller girl against the wall.

"I guess I won't go with you to see Poppa," she said, stopping at the top
of the last flight. "Poppa's kind of a rough talker sometimes."

Sheila looked rather alarmed. "You mean you think he--he will bawl me
out?"

"I wouldn't wonder." Babe smiled, showing a lump of putty-colored
chewing-gum between her flashing teeth.

Sheila stood halfway down the stairs. She had not yet quite admitted to
herself that she was afraid of Sylvester Hudson and now she did admit it.
But with a forlorn memory of Dickie, she braced herself and went slowly
down the six remaining steps. The parlor door was shut and back of it to
and fro prowled Sylvester. Sheila opened the door.

Hudson's face, ready with a scowl, changed. He came quickly toward her.

"Well, say, Miss Sheila, I am sure-ly sorry--"

Sheila shook her head. "Not half so sorry as I am, Mr. Hudson. I came
down to apologize."