“He didn't want to, I guess. He thought it was too good a joke.”
“Joke!” scoffed Cyril.
“But, see here, Billy, he isn't going to live here—now?” Bertram's voice was almost savage.
“Oh, no, he isn't going to live here—now,” interposed smooth tones from the doorway.
“Mr.—Arkwright!” breathed Billy, confusedly.
Three crimson-faced men sprang to their feet. The situation, for a moment, threatened embarrassed misery for all concerned; but Arkwright, with a cheery smile, advanced straight toward Bertram, and held out a friendly hand.
“The proverbial fate of listeners,” he said easily; “but I don't blame you at all. No, 'he' isn't going to live here,” he went on, grasping each brother's hand in turn, as Billy murmured faint introductions; “and what is more, he hereby asks everybody's pardon for the annoyance his little joke has caused. He might add that he's heartily-ashamed of himself, as well; but if any of you—” Arkwright turned to the three tall men still standing by their chairs—“if any of you had suffered what he has at the hands of a swarm of youngsters for that name's sake, you wouldn't blame him for being tempted to get what fun he could out of Mary Jane—if there ever came a chance!”
Naturally, after this, there could be nothing stiff or embarrassing. Billy laughed in relief, and motioned Mr. Arkwright to a seat near her. William said “Of course, of course!” and shook hands again. Bertram and Cyril laughed shamefacedly and sat down. Somebody said: “But what does the 'M. J.' stand for, anyhow?” Nobody answered this, however; perhaps because Aunt Hannah and Marie appeared just then in the doorway.
Dinner proved to be a lively meal. In the newcomer, Bertram met his match for wit and satire; and “Mr. Mary Jane,” as he was promptly called by every one but Aunt Hannah, was found to be a most entertaining guest.
After dinner somebody suggested music.