his--his _mother_ won't approve. I want you to urge--her, to let him
go."

"Travelling might be good for Sam," said Dr. Lavendar; "I admit that--
though not to learn the wickedness of the world. But I don't know that
it would be worth while to take a journey just on account of his
writing. He could put it in an envelope and mail it to a publisher;
he'd get it back just as soon," Dr. Lavendar said chuckling. "Look
here, what's the matter? I can see you're concerned about the boy."

"Concerned?" cried Benjamin Wright, pounding the table with his
tumbler and chewing orange-skin rapidly. "I'm damned concerned."

"I will ask, sir, that you will not swear in my presence."

Mr. Wright coughed. "I will endeavor to respect the cloth," he said
stiffly.

"If you will respect yourself, it will be sufficient. As for Sam, if
there's anything wrong, his father ought to know it."

"Well then, tell his--_mother_, that there is something wrong."

"What?"

Mr. Wright got up, and clasping his hands behind him, shuffled about
the room. Instantly one of the canaries began to sing. "Stop that!" he
said. The bird quivered with shrill music. "Stop! You! ... There's no
such thing as conversation, with these creatures about," he added in a
proud aside. "Did you ever hear such singing?"