“Well,” remarked Zeph wisely, “I never saw one of these wiseacres who try to tell everybody their business, who didn’t butt in more or less on things that didn’t concern ’em. But, of course, Mr. Hopkins can talk turkey to the men in all other branches of the service on this division.”
“He can and does. And he has got the men so sore that they are willing to be led by anybody who promises to help them get square with the super. McCarrey needs only to sit back and wait, and things will come his way.”
“That club you had just now ought to have come his way,” sighed Zeph. “Going? Well, good-night, Ralph.”
“Good-night. Better go to bed—if the mince pie and milk will let you sleep. And don’t fail to show up at the offices to-morrow noon.”
Ralph went home in a very serious frame of mind. His mother was serious, too, the next morning, when she found the coat he had worn the evening before had a great rent in it and two buttons torn off.
“I never knew it to fail, Ralph,” she said, rather sharply for her, “that when Zeph Dallas comes around you get into trouble. You have been in a fight. Look at that scratch on your cheek. What did you do last night?”
“You are a wonderfully close observer, Mother,” said Ralph, laughing. “How is it you always see so much?”
“Indeed?” and she smiled ruefully at him. “Why shouldn’t I observe every little thing about my son? At least, until some other woman has a better right to him.”
“Goodness me!” complained Ralph, with twinkling eyes. “You talk as though I was in danger of being kidnapped.”
“How do I know? There was the young lady you were talking of at supper.”