"Of course not, Steve. You know I wouldn't."

"Well, don't. They needn't know it, now or at any other time. Graves
will probably get himself appointed, and he's respectable if he is an
old fogy. We'll worry along till I'm twenty-one, and then--well, then
I'll handle our business myself."

Evidently there was no question in his mind as to his ability to handle
this or any business, no matter how involved. He rose from his chair and
yawned.

"It's deadly dull," he complained. "You don't need me, do you, Caro? I
believe I'll go out for a while. That is, unless you really care."

His sister hesitated before replying. When she spoke, there was
disappointment in her tone.

"Why, Steve," she said, "I did hope you might be here when Mr. Graves
came. He will wish to speak of important matters, and it seems to me
that both of us should hear what he has to say."

Young Warren, who had started for the door, stopped and kicked
impatiently at the corners of the rug.

"Oh, WELL!" he observed, "if you want me of course I'll stay. But why
doesn't old Graves come, if he is coming. Maybe he's under the weather
yet," he added, hopefully. "Perhaps he isn't coming at all to-day. I
believe I'll call up Kuhn on the 'phone and find out."

He was on his way to the telephone when the doorbell buzzed.