CHAPTER III

THE CLARKES AT HOME


While the prodigal son of the house of Clarke was engaged in breaking
stained-glass windows in Calvary Alley, his mother was at home
entertaining the bishop with a recital of his virtues and
accomplishments. Considering the fact that Bishop Bland's dislike for
children was notorious, he was bearing the present ordeal with unusual
fortitude.

They were sitting on the spacious piazza at Hill-crest, the country
home of the Clarkes, the massive foundation of which was popularly
supposed to rest upon bottles. It was a piazza especially designed to
offset the discomforts of a Southern August afternoon and to make a
visitor, especially if he happened to be an ecclesiastical potentate
with a taste for luxury, loath to forsake its pleasant shade for the
glaring world without.

"Yes, yes," he agreed for the fourth time, "a very fine boy. I must say I
give myself some credit for your marriage and its successful result."

Mrs. Clarke paused in her tea-pouring and gazed absently off across the
tree tops.

"I suppose I ought to be happy," she said, and she sighed.

"Every heart knoweth its own--two lumps, thank you, and a dash of rum. I