"Oh, nothing tremendous," Roger said. "I hate to be any damper to-night. I hadn't meant to tell you to-night—but I think I will now, for you look as though you could find a solution for anything."
"Then I must look like an idiot," his daughter said good-humoredly. "What is it?" she demanded.
"It's about John." Her countenance changed.
"Oh. Is he worse?"
"Edith thinks he is—and she says it's not safe."
"I see—she wants him out of the house. Tell me what she said to you." As he did so she listened intently, and turning to Allan at the end, "What do you say to this, Allan?" she asked. "Is there any real risk to the children?"
"A little," he responded. "As much as they take every day in the trolley going to school."
"They never go in the trolley," Deborah answered dryly. "They always go on the top of the 'bus." She was silent for a moment. "Well, there's no use discussing it. If Edith feels that way, John must go. The house won't be livable till he does."
Roger looked at her in surprise. He felt both relieved and disappointed. "John's only one of thousands to her," he told himself aggrievedly. "He isn't close to her, she hasn't room, she has a whole mass meeting in her head. But I haven't, by George, I like the boy—and I'm the one who will have to tell him to pack up and leave the house! Isn't it the very devil, how things all come back on me?"
"Look here, father," Deborah said, "suppose you let me manage this." And Roger's heavy visage cleared.