Course that was proddin' him a little rough, but I wanted to bring this thing to a head somehow. Made Gilkey squirm in his chair too. He begins rollin' his trousers down over the bandages and struggles into his coat.

"I suppose you're right," says he. "I--I think I will go in and see Mr.

Pulsifer."

"Wha-a-at?" says I. "Now?"

"Why not?" says he, pushin' through the swing door.

"Hey!" I calls out, jumpin' after him. "Better let me break it to 'em in there."

"As you please," says Gilkey; "only let's have no delay."

So I skips across the hall and into the lib'ry, where they're all makin'

a stab at bein' chatty and gay, with Pa Pulsifer in the center.

"Excuse me," says I, "but there's a young gent wants a few words with Mr. Pulsifer."

"What's that?" growls Adam K., glarin' about suspicious at the gaspy circle. "What young man?"

"Why," says I, "it's----" But then in he stalks.

"Oh, Herbert!" sobs Edna, makin' a wild grab at Marjorie for support.

As for Pa Pulsifer, his eyes get stary, the big vein in the middle of his forehead swells threatenin', and his bushy white eyebrows seem to bristle up.

"You!" he snorts. "How did you get in here, Sir?"

"Through the kitchen," says Gilkey. "I came to tell you that----"

"Stop!" roars Pulsifer, stampin' his foot and bunchin' his fists menacin'. "You can't tell me anything, not a word, you--you good-for-nothing young scoundrel! Haven't I warned you never to step foot in my house again? Didn't I tell you----"

Well, it's the usual irate parent stuff, only a little more wild and ranty than anything Belasco would put over. He abuses Gilkey up and down, threatens him with all kinds of things, from arrest to sudden death, and gets purple in the face doin' it. While Gilkey, he just stands there, takin' it calm and patient. Then, when there comes a lull, he remarks casual:

"If that is all, Sir, I wish to say to you that Edna and I are engaged, and that I intend to marry her early next week."

Wow! That's the cue for another explosion. It starts in just as fierce as the first; but it don't last so long, and towards the end Pa Pulsifer is talkin' husky and puffing hard.

"Go!" he winds up. "Get out of my house before I--I----"

"Oh, I say," breaks in Gilkey, "before you do what?"

"Throw you out!" bellows Pulsifer.

"Don't be absurd," says Gilkey, statin' it quiet and matter of fact.

"You couldn't, you know. Besides, it isn't being done."

And it takes Pa Pulsifer a full minute before he can choke down his temper and get his wind again. Then he advances a step or so, points dramatic to the door, and gurgles throaty:

"Will--you--get--out?"

"No," says Gilkey. "I came to see Edna. I've had no dinner either, and I'd like a bite to eat."

Pulsifer stood there, not two feet from him, glarin' and puffin', and tryin' to decide what to do next; but it's no use. He'd made his grand roarin' lion play, which had always scared the tar out of his folks, and he'd responded to an encore. Yet here was this mild-eyed young gent with the pale hair and the square jaw not even wabbly in the knees from it.

"Come, Edna," says Gilkey, holdin' out a hand to her. "Let's go into the dining-room."

"But--but see here!" gasps Pa Pulsifer, makin' a final effort.

"I--I----"

"Oh, hush up!" says Gilkey, turnin' away weary. "Come, Edna."

And Edna, she went; also Mrs. Pulsifer; likewise Vee and Marjorie. Trust women for knowin' when a bluff has been called. I expect they was wise, two or three minutes before either me or Gilkey, that Pa Pulsifer was beat. I stayed long enough to see him slump into an easy-chair, his under lip limp and a puzzled look in his eyes, like he was tryin' to figure out just what had hit him. And over by the fireplace is Ferdie, gawpin' at him foolish, and exercisin' his gears, I expect, on the same problem. Neither of them had said a word up to the time I left.

It took the women half an hour or more to feed Herbert up proper with all the nice things they could drag from the icebox. Then Mother Pulsifer patted him on the shoulder and shooed Edna and him through the French doors out on the veranda.

And what do you guess is Mrs. Pulsifer's openin' as we drifts back towards the scene of the late conflict?

"Why, Deary!" says she. "You haven't your cigars, have you? Here they are--and the matches. There! Now for the surprise. Our young people have decided--that is, Edna has--not to be married until two weeks from next Wednesday."

Does Pa Pulsifer rant any more rants? No. He gets his perfecto goin'

nicely, blows a couple of smoke rings up towards the ceilin', and then remarks in sort of a weak growl:

"Hanged if I'll walk down a church aisle, Maria--hanged if I do!"

"I told them you wouldn't," says Ma Pulsifer, smoothin' the hair back over his ears soothin'; "so they've agreed on a simple home wedding, with only four bridesmaids."

"Huh!" says he. "It's lucky they did."

But, say, take it from me, his days of crackin' the whip around that joint are over. I'm beginnin' to believe too how some of that dope I fed to Herbert must have been straight goods. Vee insists on talkin' it over later, as we are camped in one of them swing seats out on the veranda.

"Wasn't he just splendid," says she: "standing up to Mr. Pulsifer that way, you know?"

"Some hero!" says I. "I wonder would he give me a few lessons, in case I should run across your Aunty some day?"

"Pooh!" says Vee. "Just as though I didn't go back to see if he'd gone and hear you putting him up to all that yourself! It was fine of you to do it too, Torchy."

"Right here, then!" says I. "Place the laurel wreath right here."

"Silly!" says she, givin' me a reprovin' pat. "Besides, that porch light is on."

Which was one of the reasons why I turned it off, and maybe accounts for our sudden break when Marjorie comes out to tell us it's near twelve o'clock.

Yes, indeed, though he may not look it, Ferdie is more or less of a help.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Which was one of the reasons I turned the porch light off."]