Curtis looked up into his visitor's fine, sensitive face, and exclaimed, abruptly—almost violently: "I'm going to miss you, old man."
"My heart's with you," replied Lawson. "And I shall return next spring."
"Bring Miss Brisbane with you."
"I'd like to do so, but she is vastly out of key—and I doubt. Meanwhile, if I can be of any use to you in Washington let me know."
"Thank you, Lawson, I trust you perfectly," Curtis replied, with a glow of warm liking.
As he stood at the gate looking up into Elsie's face, she seemed very much softened, and he wished to reach his hand and stay her where she sat; but the last word was spoken, and the wagon rolled away with no more definite assurance of her growing friendship than was to be read in a polite smile.
Jennie was tearful as she said: "After all, they were worth while."
Curtis sighed as he said: "Sis, the realities of our position begin to make themselves felt. Play-spells will be fewer now that our artists are gone."
"They certainly broke our fall," replied Jennie, soberly. "Osborne Lawson is fine, and I don't believe Elsie Bee Bee is as ferocious as she pretends to be."
"It's her training. She has breathed the air of rapacity from childhood. I can't blame her for being her father's child."