“Just queer enough to be delightful,” put in Cadwalader Oram, and Mr. Homer smiled benignly at the chaff flung at him.
“He isn’t queer at all,” declared Flo; “he’s a genius, and a thoroughly sensible man.”
“Both? Impossible!” exclaimed Floyd Austin.
“Not at all!” said Mr. Homer, himself. “I’m writing a book in twenty volumes, Miss Fairfield,—that proves my genius. And I’ve left my work to come and chum with my friends,—that proves my sense.”
“What is your book about?” asked Patty, a little uncertain how to talk to this wise man. “Tell me about your work.”
“How can I talk to you of work,” said Mr. Homer, “when you don’t even know what the word means? Have you ever done any work in your life?”
“No,” admitted Patty; “I’m too busy being idle to have any time for work. My life is nothing but folly.”
“But folly and happiness are twins,” said he, looking kindly at the girl, and when kindness shone in Peter Homer’s blue eyes he was indeed attractive.
“They are,” agreed Patty; “but pray how do you know what the word folly means?”
“His folly is being wise,” broke in Cadwalader Oram.