"I really do not know. I told you Wilmarth looked out for those things," he says impatiently.
"Have you any clear idea about the new patent? Is it really worth working? What are Mr. Wilmarth's views on the subject?"
"St. Vincent has to change something or other. He is very sanguine, and wants Wilmarth to wait a little. I don't believe he has perfect faith in it."
"I want you to read father's letter," Floyd says gravely.
"Not to-night, old fellow. To tell the truth, my head aches and I feel stupid. We'll look into things to-morrow. Only, Floyd, don't bring up a fellow with too sharp a turn."
Floyd sighs. He will not have much help in his task, he can plainly foresee. There remains Mr. St. Vincent.
"Eugene," and there is a touch of deep feeling in his tone, "I want us to work together harmoniously. Remember that I have nothing to gain in all this. Whatever I do must be for your benefit and that of the family. I have my own plans and aims, but you will always find me brotherly."
"Oh, well, don't pull such a solemn face about it. I dare say it will come out right. St. Vincent will get everything fixed up presently. Every business gets in a tight place now and then. Let us wind up our conclave with a friendly cigar."
Floyd is still holding Cecil in his arms, now asleep, but he will not relinquish his precious burden. Marcia has some guests on the porch; he hears their chatter and laughter. Is he, too; growing captious and uncomfortable?