The boys went—reluctantly, with dragging steps, but without protest.
However, at the door Carter turned and ran back, his brother following like a faithful dog.
“I guess I forgot to say thank you, Uncle Stacey, for Jack and Jill,” he observed.
“That’s all right, Carter,” said Stacey. “ ’Night! Sleep tight!”
“Don’t let the bed-bugs bite!” Carter shouted joyfully.
“Carter!” called his mother, but he was really gone this time.
“Triumphant exit, wasn’t it?” Phil remarked. “Come out on the porch with me, Stacey. It will rest you.”
They went out and walked up and down together. There was a pleasant coolness in the air. The city glittered beneath them.
“Sorry you ran into all that mess in Omaha,” Phil said presently. “Must have given you a rotten sense of discouragement.” He waited, as though for a reply, but Stacey made none. “The trouble with crowds is, I suppose,” he continued thoughtfully, “that you get only the least common denominator. What all men have in common is their primitive passions. It’s only what each has by himself that counts to his credit. Any man is better than a crowd.” He paused again.
“No doubt,” said Stacey dispassionately.