demanded disingenuously.

Mrs. Slawson shook her head. "Wonderin' is a habit I broke myself off
of, when I wasn't knee-high to a grasshopper," she replied. "I take
things as they come, not to mention as they go. Either way suits me,
an' annyhow I don't wonder about 'em. If it's somethin' good, why, it'll
keep. An' if it's somethin' bad, wonderin' won't make it any better. So
what's the use?"

"Guess I'll go on up, an' see my grandmother in her room," observed
Radcliffe casually, as they reached Mrs. Sherman's door. "I won't go in
here with you."

"Dear me, how sorry I am!" Martha returned with feeling. "I'd kinder
counted on you for--for what they calls moral support, that bein' the
kind the male gender is mainly good for, these days. But, of course, if
you ain't been invited, it wouldn't be genteel for you to press
yourself. I can understand your feelin's. They does credit to your head
an' to your heart. As I said before--so long! See you later."

The door having closed her in, Radcliffe lingered aimlessly about,
outside. Without, of course, being able to analyze it, he felt as if
some rare source of entertainment had been withdrawn from him, leaving
life flat and tasteless. He felt like being, what his mother called,
"fractious," but--he remembered, as in a flash, "you never catch a
thorerbred whinin'," and he snapped his jaws together with manly
determination.

At Martha's entrance, Mrs. Sherman glanced up languidly from the book
she was reading, and inquired with pointed irony, "You didn't find it