Billy grinned. When Billy smiled, two things happened—one to you and
the other to him. Your spirits went up and his eyes seemed to
disappear. Maida said that Billy’s eyes “skrinkled up.” The effect
was so comic that she always laughed—not with him but at him.

“All right,” Billy agreed pleasantly; “I’ll put the greatest
creative mind of the century to work on the job.”

“You put it to work at once, young man,” Dr. Pierce said. “The thing
I’m trying to impress on you both is that you can’t wait too long.”

“Buffalo” Westabrook stirred uneasily. His fierce, blue eyes
retreated behind the frown in his thick brows until all you could
see were two shining points. He watched Maida closely as she limped
back to the car. “What are you thinking of, Posie?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing, father,” Maida said, smiling faintly. This was the
answer she gave most often to her father’s questions. “Is there
anything you want, Posie?” he was sure to ask every morning, or,
“What would you like me to get you to-day, little daughter?” The
answer was invariable, given always in the same soft, thin little
voice: “Nothing, father—thank you.”

“Where are we now, Jerome?” Dr. Pierce asked suddenly.

Mr. Westabrook looked about him. “Getting towards Revere.”

“Let’s go home through Charlestown,” Dr. Pierce suggested. “How
would you like to see the house where I was born, Maida—that old