“Oh, come now!” ejaculated Robert. “When I’m to have a sister, please select a nice pussy one with appealing eyes like—like Hebe the Heaver, for instance.”
“There will be no sister about it,” returned Mrs. Nixon sharply.
“Mamma, mamma!” Her son turned lazily accusing eyes upon her. “Have you ulterior motives? Are you laying any traps for your little Robbie?”
Mrs. Nixon gave a faint laugh in spite of herself.
“My dear, I wish you weren’t quite such a goose. Is it likely that I should expect you to be interested in a combination of sand and grit?”
Robert looked back at the fire. “There’s no telling what a solicitous mother will expect when there are shekels in the balance. It would be a dangerous clash under the same roof, for you know I’m two thirds brass and the other third pure affection, and that’s a mixture akin to dynamite.”
Silence again for a space.
“What are you going to do when we get back to the Hub?” inquired Robert at last.
“We haven’t quite decided, your uncle and I.”
“I’m going to Fairport to sail with Brute.”