"Well, whatever happened, the fur was rising on the back of mother's neck, and I didn't know but there would be a silver lining to the cloud and she'd cut Philip Sidney; but," with a heavy sigh, "no such luck. The cowboy still gallops his Pegasus over my prostrate body every meal."
"What do you mean by a stable?" asked Kathleen.
"Why, Pegasus has to have one, I suppose."
"Is that all? Are you only being witty?"
"Not a bit of it. You know the literal truth is all I'm ever up to. The genius has a room over a stable, and an oil stove!"
"Why a stable?"
"Convenient for Pegasus, I suppose," responded Edgar carelessly. "Beside, doubtless he would feel out of place in any abode more civilized."
"Edgar Fabian, that's nonsense. I remember his mother, when she came East years ago, don't you?"
"They're as poor as Job's turkey," said Edgar with a careless shrug. "That's why he jumped at Aunt Mary's pittance like a trout at a fly."
"Oh, Edgar, what an object-lesson for you!" Kathleen clasped her hands.