BILLY, THE REALITY
Very early in May came the cheery letter from Billy herself announcing the news of her intended return.
“And I shall be so glad to see you all,” she wrote in closing. “It seems so long since I left America.” Then she signed her name with “kindest regards to all”—Billy did not send “love to all” any more.
William at once began to make plans for his namesake's comfort.
“But, Will, she didn't say she was coming here,” Bertram reminded him.
“She didn't need to,” smiled William, confidently. “She just took it for granted, of course. This is her home.”
“But it hasn't been—for years. She's called Hampden Falls 'home.'”
“I know, but that was before,” demurred William, his eyes a little anxious. “Besides, they've sold the house now, you know. There's nowhere for her to go but here, Bertram.”
“All right,” acquiesced the younger man, still doubtingly. “Maybe that's so; maybe! But—” he did not finish his sentence, and his eyes were troubled as he watched his brother begin to rearrange Billy's rooms. In time, however, so sure was William of Billy's return to the Beacon Street house, that Bertram ceased to question; and, with almost as much confidence as William himself displayed, he devoted his energies to the preparations for Billy's arrival.
And what preparations they were! Even Cyril helped this time to the extent of placing on Billy's piano a copy of his latest book, and a pile of new music. Nor were the melodies that floated down from the upper floor akin to funeral marches; they were perilously near to being allied to “ragtime.”