THE CUB
I didn't go in to luncheon.
Instead, I lay down up in my room, wondering what Jenkins would think when he saw Foxy Grandpa a guest with me under this roof, and wondering also what I ought to do, or if I should do anything. I came to the conclusion finally that I wouldn't say anything for the present, for I had about all the complications I could carry.
Presently I went down to the living-room, where they were all assembled, and my heart leaped as I thought I detected a brightening in Frances' face as I entered.
Billings was waving the frump away with his fat hand. "Take it away," he said. "I hate bugs."
"But, Jacky," said the frump pleadingly, "I think it's a phusiotus gloriosa."
"I don't care if it's a giraffe," said Billings rudely.
But the professor was already across the room to the rescue.
"Ha! not a gloriosa," he said animatedly, as he snooped over the little greenish thing in the frump's hand. "Observe the shortened prothorax and mesothorax and—"
"And metathorax," chimed in the frump, her head close to his. "Hence—"