"She cuts quite a figure in your scheme of existence, Bill. You've got to play along with her, up to a certain point—or go to work. And what would you work at? They wouldn't start off by making you president of anything. I know that much about business myself."
"I'm not afraid to take a chance at work."
"Not you. But how about the fellow that gives out the jobs? And, besides, Aunt Caroline hasn't said anything about your going to work, as I understand it. She's got higher ideals right now."
"Pete, I tell you I'm not going to stand for this without a fight. I haven't promised anything yet."
Pete grinned.
"Maybe you didn't promise, but you marched off the field, and Aunt Caroline didn't. You went through all the motions of taking a beating. Bill, she hung the Indian sign on you right then. They never come back after the champ puts 'em away. I'll string a little bet on Aunt Caroline."
Bill growled again, seized the morning paper, essayed to read it, then flung it across the room.
"Never on the front page, Bill," said Pete. "They always print it opposite the editorial page."
"What?"
"The society news."