finding himself in the midst of so many people. He had not yet
mastered the art of feeling at home in his own house. At meals he did
not fear his wife's guests so much. Their attention was in a manner
distributed at such times, instead of being, as now, focused upon
himself. He stood there square and massive, outwardly the picture of
all that was rugged and independent, looking about him for a friendly
face. To offer a general remark, or to go boldly and sit down beside
one of those dazzling young ladies, like some heavyweight spider
beside a Miss Muffet, was beyond him. In his time he had stopped
runaway horses, clubbed mad dogs, and helped to break up East Side
gang fights, when the combatants on both sides were using their guns
lavishly and impartially; but his courage failed him here.

"Why," said Jimmy, "is your father here, too? I didn't know that."

To himself he reviled his luck. How much would he see of Molly now?
Her father's views on himself were no sealed book to him.

Molly looked at him in surprise.

"Didn't know?" she said. "Didn't I tell you the place belonged to
father?"

"What!" said Jimmy. "This house?"

"Yes. Of course."

"And--by gad, I've got it. He has married Spennie Blunt's mother."

"Yes."