“Oh! Guardy, you're as bad as Jock. He takes after you terribly. Look at the shape of his head. Jock, come here!” The innocent boy approached; with his girlish complexion, his flowery blue eyes, his perfect mouth, he stood before his mother like a large cherub. And suddenly he blew his ocarina in a dreadful manner. Mrs. Larne launched a box at his ears, and receiving the wind of it he fell prone.
“That's the way he behaves. Be off with you, you awful boy. I want to talk to Guardy.”
The boy withdrew on his stomach, and sat against the wall cross-legged, fixing his innocent round eyes on old Heythorp. Mrs. Larne sighed.
“Things are worse and worse, Guardy. I'm at my wits' end to tide over this quarter. You wouldn't advance me a hundred on my new story? I'm sure to get two for it in the end.”
The old man shook his head.
“I've done something for you and the children,” he said. “You'll get notice of it in a day or two; ask no questions.”
“Oh! Guardy! Oh! you dear!” And her gaze rested on Bob Pillin, leaning over the piano, where Phyllis again sat.
Old Heythorp snorted. “What are you cultivating that young gaby for? She mustn't be grabbed up by any fool who comes along.”
Mrs. Larne murmured at once:
“Of course, the dear gairl is much too young. Phyllis, come and talk to Guardy!”