I picked up the telephone and called, "Hello!"
"Hello, yourself, you old scallywag!" came back a voice which was familiar, though for a minute I could not place it.
"Who is it?" I asked angrily.
"Who's been biting you?" came back the answer. "This is Fred Barlow, old surly face. What's the matter, anyway? Had a row with the wife?"
Fred Barlow! Old Barlow's son! If ever there was an irrepressible young man it was Fred Barlow.
"I'm coming right over to see you," he said, and click went the receiver.
I went back in the room and growled at Betty: "Fred Barlow's coming over here. Try to be civil to him."
Betty looked at me for a minute, then crossed the room, and put one arm around my shoulder.
"Dawson, dear," she said, "you must not get vexed with me. You know, dearest, I would do everything to make you happy. But you must also know, dear, you have such a great big heart that you sometimes let it run away with your head—now, don't you? But you must not get angry with me. We cannot afford to get cross with each other—can we?"
"I—" but what then happened is nobody's business but ours. Suffice to say that, when Fred Barlow did breeze into the house, Betty and I were both smiling, and smiling from our hearts.