I attempted to soothe him.

"THAT'S not it, sir, " I explained. "It's a most generous offer, a
most flattering, complimentary offer. But you don't know me. I don
t know you. Choosing a son is a very----"

"I've had you looked up," announced Mrs. Farrell. "The Pinkertons
give you a high rating. I hired 'em to trail you for six months."

I wanted to ask WHICH six months, but decided to let sleeping dogs
lie. I shook my head. Politely but firmly I delivered my ultimatum.

"It is quite impossible!" I said firmly.

Mrs. Farrell continued the debate. She talked in a businesslike
manner and pronounced the arrangement one by which both sides would
benefit. There were thousands of other Farrells, she pointed out,
any one of whom they might have adopted. But they had selected me
because in so choosing, they thought they were taking the least
risk. They had decided she was pleased to say, that I would not
disgrace them, and that as a "literary author " I brought with me
a certain social asset.

A clever, young businessman they did not want. Their business
affairs they were quit able to manage themselves. But they would
like as an adopted son one who had already added glory to the name
of Farrell, which glory he was willing to share.

"We wouldn't tie you down," she urged "but we would expect you to
live at Harbor Castle a part of your time, and to call us Ma and