"No," I replied cheerfully. "He is to board with Mrs. Wilson down on Lake Street. It will be so much more convenient when he is once fairly at work. He has decided to learn the printing business."
I knew he looked sharply at me, and I hated to have anything to hide from him.
I went over to Mrs. Wilson's and selected his room, seeing that it was comfortably bedded and furnished. Then I paid her a month's board in advance, explaining the relationship to father and saying that he was warmly interested in his namesake's welfare. She promised to see that he was well taken care of in every way.
He hated to go, declaring he did not mind the walk nor the early rising it entailed. But we set it out so very much to his advantage that he ceased to object.
"And we shall look for you on Sundays and whenever you like of an evening. We shall keep a sharp watch over you and see that you do not go astray."
"I should be a beast if I did after all your kindness," he returned with deep feeling.
I was rather glad that Polly Morrison, as people still called her, made a diversion through this time, when relations were strained. It was quite an event for the town. Madame Maseurier was somebody in her silks and furbelows. She was not "dined and wined," though no doubt the gentlemen would have done it if it had been admissible, but tea drinkings, the complimentary honor of that day, were proffered.
"Dan," I said, and I tried to keep in my usual mood, even if he was captious, "Dan, Mrs. Gurnee has asked us to supper to meet Madame Maseurier to-morrow evening."
"Well—" rather sharply.
"If you don't care to go I will send regrets."