CLARA. Merry Christmas!

WARDEN. We came to see the G.o.desbys.

CLARA. They've gone down the road.

MASON. Sterling isn't here, is he?

TROTTER. No, haven't seen him.

CLARA. Do you know _why_ we're here?

[MASON _and_ WARDEN _are embarra.s.sed._

MASON. Yes--er--er--a--many happy returns, Mr. Trotter.

TROTTER. It's a great day for me, Mr. Mason!

WARDEN. Wish you joy, Trotter!

[_Embarra.s.sed and not going near him._ TROTTER _rushes eagerly to him and grasps his hand warmly._

TROTTER. Thank you, old man! I say! _Thank you!_

MASON. Miss Clara, would you do me the great favor of going down the road and hurrying the G.o.desbys back if you see them?

CLARA. Yes, I don't mind; come along, Trotty!

WARDEN. You must excuse Trotter. I want a talk with him if he will give me five minutes.

CLARA. Oh, certainly.

[_She goes out Left behind the house._

WARDEN. [_To_ MASON.] Will you see Mrs. Hunter?

TROTTER. I beg your pardon, Mrs. _Trotter_!

WARDEN. [_Politely._] I beg yours. [_To_ MASON.] See Mrs. Trotter.

MASON. [_Aside to_ WARDEN.] You're going to ask _him_ to go on d.i.c.k's note for Ryder?

WARDEN. [_In a low voice._] Yes.

MASON. You're a wonder! As if _he_ would!

WARDEN. _Somebody must_, and there's n.o.body else. That boy and that mother have got to be saved!

MASON. I'm sorry my name's no good for us.

WARDEN. And mine mustn't be used.

MASON. No, indeed! The minute that was done, there'd be a new complication, and more trouble would tumble down on Mrs. Sterling's head. Good luck.

[_Shakes his hand and enters the house._

TROTTER. What's up? _You_ haven't come to kick about my wedding, have you? I wouldn't stand for that, you know!

WARDEN. It's not that, Mr. Trotter. Your wife's son-in-law, Sterling, has turned out a blackguard; he has had intrusted to him Miss Ruth Hunter's money and several other people's, and he's used it all for speculation of his own.

TROTTER. Then he's a d.a.m.ned thief!

[_He sits on the bench with the manner that he has settled the subject._

WARDEN. So he is, and he's ruined.

TROTTER. Well, prison is the place for _him_.

WARDEN. We won't argue that, but how about his family--they get punished for what he has done; they must share his disgrace.

TROTTER. Oh, well, my wife is out of all that now--_she's Mrs. Trotter_.

WARDEN. Yes, but _her own daughter_ suffers.

TROTTER. [_On the defensive._] She isn't very chummy with her cla.s.sy eldest daughter.

WARDEN. Never mind that; you know without my telling you that Mrs.

Sterling is a fine woman.

TROTTER. She's always snubbed me right and left, but, by George, I must own she is a fine woman.

WARDEN. That's right! [_Clapping him on the back and putting his arm around his shoulder._] Look here--help us save her!

TROTTER. How?

WARDEN. Indorse a note of Sterling's to give Ryder to keep him quiet.

TROTTER. I'd have to ask my wife.

WARDEN. No! Don't start off like that! Keep the reins in your own hands at the very beginning,--make her realize from this very day that you're raised up on the cushion beside her; that she's sitting lower down admiring the scenery, while you do the driving through life!

TROTTER. [_Half laughing._] Ha! I guess you're right. Box seat and reins are good enough for me!

WARDEN. Good boy! Then we can count on you to sign this note?

TROTTER. Where's _my_ security?

WARDEN. I can get you security if you want it.