For a moment Mr. Jones departed to assure himself that Obadiah did not surreptitiously draw nigh. Thus reassured, he returned and vigorously pursued his scathing arraignment of the absent one. “If he had red blood in his veins he’d have a heart where that girl is concerned. Why doesn’t he ever give a dance for her? If he wasn’t an old tight wad he’d give several a week, have a swell dinner every night and a theater party each time a decent show comes to town. He’d do that thing if he wasn’t a short sport. He ought to get a lively bunch of young people to make his place their social headquarters and tear things loose.”
“That’s me.” Thus did the laconic Kelly record his position.
Mr. Jones went on, “He should give his daughter the opportunity to enjoy the better things of life.” The stenographer drifted over to a window and fell to musing. He gave thought to volumes of lighter literature which had led him to believe that, in well conducted families of wealth and position, private secretaries often assumed the responsibilities of social secretaries or major domos. Turning again to the bookkeeper, he resumed, “It takes certain peculiar qualifications to handle that sort of thing. Everybody knows that the old man couldn’t do it. He ought to come out like a man and admit that he has no conception of that bigger social life which plays such an important part in the world today. Then–” Mr. Jones spoke with great meaning–“there are those who understand such matters and could relieve him of all responsibilities except–” Mr. Jones snapped his fingers as though it was a bagatelle–“signing the checks.”
CHAPTER IV
THOSE DARKIES AGAIN
After Obadiah, highly indignant at the presence of the black orphans, had departed, his car moved slowly up the street. It stopped at the corner for the policeman’s signal. At the edge of the sidewalk stood a newsboy eating an ice cream cone with great enjoyment. The shouts of the pickaninnies were stilled at the pleasing spectacle of a fellow man partaking of food. Every eye watched the disappearing cone as if fascinated by some novel mechanical process.
The unusual silence aroused Virginia from uneasy thoughts of her father. Following the eyes of her guests she caught the common target as the last bite disappeared, and noted that the lips of the black company moved sympathetically coincident with its departure.
“These children will be late for lunch?” worried the young hostess, awakening to the requirements of the hour.
“Yas’m,” the woman confessed with indifference. “It ain’ no mattah.” From outward appearances the infants took issue upon the question, deeming it one of grave concern. “Dey eats at noon but ah fix ’em up er snack w’en we git back.” The orphans registered relief.
“How would they like an ice cream cone?” suggested Virginia.