"I see," said Derry. "But, Amarilly, to be a true artist, or a writer, one must see all sorts and conditions of life. But I am not coming for that. I am coming because I like you and want to meet your family."
"Well," agreed Amarilly, resigned, but playing her last trump, "you haven't had your dinner yet."
"We had a very late luncheon, if you remember, and I am invited to a supper after the theatre to-night, so I am not dining."
Amarilly did not respond to his light flow of chatter on the way home. She halted on the threshold of her home, and looked at him with despair in her honest young eyes.
"Our house hasn't got any insides or any stairs even. Just a ladder."
"Good! I knew you wouldn't—that you couldn't have a house like anyone's else. It sounds interesting and artistic. Open your door to me, Amarilly."
Slowly she opened the door, and drew a sigh of relief. The big room was "tidied" ("redded" having been censored by Derry some time ago) and a very peaceful, homelike atmosphere prevailed. The Boarder, being an amateur carpenter, had made a very long table about which were grouped the entire family. Her mother was darning socks; the Boarder, reading the paper preliminary to his evening call on Lily Rose; the boys, busy with books and games; Cory, rocking her doll to sleep.
Their entrance made quite a little commotion. There was a scattering of boys from the table until Derry called "Halt" in stentorian tones. "If there's any gap in the circle, I shall go."
Then he joined the group, and described to the boys a prize-fight so graphically that their eyes fastened on him with the gaze of one witnessing the event itself. He praised Amarilly to the mother, gave Cory a "tin penny" which she at once recognized as a silver quarter, and talked politics so eloquently with the Boarder that for once he was loath to leave when the hour of seven-thirty arrived.
"You've gotter go now," reminded Cory sternly. "You see," turning to Derry. "he's gotter go and spend his ev'nin' with Lily Rose. She's his gal."