"I was just about telling Phil," said Mrs. Fabian, "that he must visit us at the island next summer."
Mr. Fabian nodded cordially. "Care for sailing?" he asked.
"I never had a chance to know. Horses and tramping and camping have given me all my outings so far."
"Then you must come. We'll have a cruise. I've only a small yacht, for I prefer to run it myself with a few friends."
"That sounds attractive, but I shan't indulge, I think."
"Why, what sort of a painter is it who doesn't do marines?" asked Mrs. Fabian.
"Yes, I know," returned Phil, smiling. "I'll do them at Coney Island."
When he had taken his departure Mrs. Fabian turned to her husband.
"Isn't it a shame," she said, "for a boy like that not to have any money?"
"No," responded her husband. "It's in his favor. The shame is that a fine husky chap like that should give himself over to paint-pots. I'd make a position for him in the office if he'd come. I wish I had a son like that."