were not the parents I would choose. I had a picture of life at
Harbor Castle, dependent upon the charity of the Farrells. I
imagined what my friends would say to me, and worse, what they
would say behind my back. But I was not forced to a refusal.

Mr. Farrell rose.

"We don't want to hurry you," he said. "We want you to think it
over. Maybe if we get acquainted----"

Mrs. Farrell smiled upon me ingratiatingly.

"Why don't we get acquainted now?" she demanded. "We're motoring
down to Cape May to stay three weeks. Why don't you come along--as
our guest--and see how you like us?"

I assured them, almost too hastily, that already was deeply
engaged.

As they departed, Farrell again admonished me to think it over.

"And look me up at Dun's and Bradstreet's," he advised. "Ask 'em
about me at the Waldorf. Ask the head waiters and bellhops if I
look twice at a five spot!"

It seemed an odd way to select a father, but I promised.

I escorted them even to the sidewalk, and not without envy watched
them sweep toward the Waldorf in the High Flyer, 1915 model. I
caught myself deciding, were it mine, I would paint it gray.