"That's a gem," gravely asserted Galt, "that descriptive sentence is. Spoken rapidly it does leave the impression that the widow is mortgaged and a doubt as to the red brick reaching beyond the basement. But when one writes it all out, and punctuates carefully——"
"Leslie Galt, my young brother! Will you remember that you are still on probation? Final vows have not yet been administered. Though under instruction, you have not yet been admitted into the Lawton community for life!"
"That's about the only thing I do remember at all clearly these days," answered Galt, smiling meaningly at Dorothy.
But John Lawton rumpled his thin hair, and said, anxiously: "Let's get back to that mortgaged house, daughter—it's most train time for you, dear."
"Well," went on Sybil, drawing her father's hand about her neck as she spoke, "her name is—is, oh, something with an S, Mrs.—Stow—Stover—Stine—Sty—Stivers! that's it! Mrs. Jane Stivers—odd, isn't it, papa? And she——"
"My dear child," remonstrated Mrs. Lawton, somewhat wearily, "why will you not adopt my method of remembering names? It's so embarrassing at times to have a cognomen escape you, just when you feel it, too, on the tip of your tongue, but can't get it off. Now, I always associate a name with a thing or an action or an idea, and the result is I never have to go skipping through the alphabet as you and Dorothy do. I recall the case of Mrs.—Mrs.—dear me! Mrs.—you know, girls, to whom I refer—that woman I disliked so. I like most people, but she was underbred—at One Hundredth Street? You must remember her perfectly. I know at the time I associated her name with something—er—er, something she hated. Now, what did that woman hate? Her husband was bandy—polite enough, but bandy, and he had a cross eye! Something she hated—now what?"
"Perhaps she hated anything very straight," laughed Dorothy. "I think I should under the circumstances!"
"There!" broke in Mrs. Lawton. "What did I tell you? Straight—she hated anything straight, because her name was Crook! And Mr. Crook was cross-eyed! It's infallible, my system! But do get on, Sybil, or really you will lose that train!"
"Well, papa!" said the girl, in a quivering voice, "Mrs. Stivers's house is—Mr. Thrall says—fairly near the theatre. It is quiet as a church, and in a most respectable quarter. She has been in the habit of renting the second floor to student lodgers. She has never kept regular boarders, but Mr. Thrall thinks she might, for a few dollars increase in the rent, take me in, instead, and do for me. He uses so many Englishy expressions in ordinary conversation. He says her age, character, and habits would recommend her, and another advantage would be that I could go home nights under her wing, without troubling Mr. Roberts for escort, who lives in the opposite direction. The parlor, he says, is given over to horse-hair. Mrs. Stivers was married during the mahogany reign of terror, you see. But I could do what I liked in my own room, to modernize. And, mamma, he proposes, as she can't come from her work out here, to be interviewed by you, that you authorize Mrs. Van Camp [Letitia straightened up in her chair] to receive her and talk the matter over, and then to report to you for your decision."
Mrs. Lawton closed her eyes, and said, impressively: "A most sensible suggestion from a man très comme il faut!"