We ten

by Barbara Yechton

I was alone on the stoop when the boys got back,—Chad wasn't with them. Nora was playing the piano in the drawing-room, and Phil went in to speak to her; but Felix sat down on the step beside me with his back against the railing. As the light from the hall lamp fell on him, I could see how white and tired he looked. I couldn't help saying something about it. "You do look awfully used up, Fee," I said; "I guess you've been walking too far. Whatever made you do it? You know you can't stand that sort of thing."

Of course I didn't say this crossly,—Fee isn't at all the sort of person that one would say cross things to,—but you see I knew just how miserable he'd been, and that he wasn't well yet, by any means. He pretended to be quite well, but I noticed that he sat down lots of times, instead of standing, as he used to, and that it was still an effort for him to go up and down stairs. When I said that about his being tired, he pushed his straw hat back off his face, and I could see his hair lying wet and dark on his white forehead. "I am dead tired," he said, wearily. "I tell you, Jack, the ascent to the third floor seems a formidable undertaking to-night." Then he added abruptly, "Why did I do it? Because I'm determined"—he brought his clinched hand down on the stoop—"that that scalawag sha'n't get hold of Phil. I suppose my miserable old back'll take its revenge to-morrow; but I don't care,—I'd do it again and again, if I couldn't keep them apart any other way."

Just then Phil's voice came to us through the open drawing-room window. "It's a lovely night," he was saying to Nora; "I don't feel a bit like going to bed,—I think I'll go out again for a little while. You needn't wait up for me, Nonie, and I'll see to the shutting up of the house when I come in; don't let Fee bother about it,—he looks tired."

With a quick exclamation, Felix caught hold of the railing of the stoop, and dragging himself to his feet, limped into the parlour. "It's an age since we've sung any of our duets, Phil," he called; "let's have some now. Nora, play 'O wert thou in the cauld blast,'—that's one of our favourites." And in a minute or two they were singing away with all their might.

But presently Phil came out with his hat on, and behind him Felix. "Still here, Jack? It's getting pretty late!" Fee said. Then to Phil, "I guess it's too late for another tramp to-night, Philippus; come on, let's go upstairs." He was trying to speak off-hand, but I could hear in his voice the eagerness he was trying to keep back.

Perhaps Phil heard it, too, and suspected something, for he answered very shortly, "I'm going out; I'm not an infant to be put to bed at eight o'clock." And with that he jammed his hat tighter on his head, ran down the stoop, and was soon out of sight.

Felix sat down on one of the hall chairs, and leaned his head on his hand in such a sad, tired way that I felt as if I'd have liked to pitch right into Phil. I darted in from the stoop and put my hand on Fee's shoulder. "Fee," I whispered,—I didn't want Nora to hear,—"can I do anything to help? Shall I run after him and make him come back?"

Felix looked up at me; his lips were set tight together, and there was a stern expression on his face that made him look like papa. "'Twould take a bigger man than you are to do that, Jack," he said, with a faint smile, adding slowly, "but I'll tell you what you can do,—you can keep mum about this; and now help me upstairs, like a good boy: I'm almost too tired to put one foot after the other." Then, as he rose and slowly straightened himself up, he said, "After all, Phil's only gone for a walk, you know, Jack; he'll be home pretty soon, you may depend." But I had a feeling that he said this to make himself believe it as well as me.

Fee was awfully used up; I could hardly get him up the steps. Nora would certainly have heard the noise we made if she hadn't been so interested in her music.

Phil did not come in very early; in fact, I think it was late. I room with him, you know, and it seemed as if I'd been asleep a good while when his shutting of our door woke me up. Of course I turned over and looked at him; I'm sure there wasn't anything in that to make a person mad, though perhaps I did stare a little, for Phil had a queer expression on his face,—jolly, and yet sort of ashamed, too. His face was quite red, and his eyes looked glassy.