"You may be sure it's a lady typist, then, and not the other sort," commented her step-mother. "I like that boy!"
"You seem to," murmured Joan, reflecting idly that it was a compliment Mr. Blair did not appear to return; which had been one of the few things in common between them.
But later Effie May had something to say on the subject that interested her more. She said it to her husband in Joan's hearing.
"You remember that young chap we had at the Horse show one night, whom Joan met on the train? Name of Blair?"
"Certainly, my love. An agreeable fellow, though not quite, I should say, to the manner born? However, he had a respect for his elders quite unusual nowadays," said the Major affably, recalling his personal success with the young man. "And a keen sense of humor, as I recall, very keen!"
That, as it happened, was one thing Archibald did not possess. He had in its place a hearty laugh, a passion for "jokes," and a generous appreciation of jesting intentions on the part of others, which doubtless served him quite as well.
"That's the chap. Well, some of the boys who were here this afternoon were telling me that he's quite a scrapper. Seems some of the young sports about town have been putting the gloves on with him, down to the Y. M. C. A.—Johnny Carmichael and that lot—and the other night they got up a match between him and a regular pug, just to see how good he was. Seems he stood up to him three rounds, and come out of it with his nose a pulp and his front teeth gone, askin' for more!"
"Heavens!" murmured Joan. "Those infantile front teeth?"
"Oh, I guess they stuck 'em in again," said Effie May, "but I sure would have liked to see that match! The boys were quite enthusiastic."
"Did he win?" asked Joan.