“You seem to be infatuated about that boy,” said his wife coldly. “I suppose you will want him invited to Randolph’s birthday party next month.”
“I certainly shall,” said Mr. Briggs.
“This is going rather too far,” said his wife angrily.
“However that may be, he must be invited.”
“I should think I had some voice in that matter, Mr. Briggs.”
“Unless Gilbert Greyson is invited, there shall be no party at all,” said Mr. Briggs, with decision.
Mrs. Briggs felt that the fiat had gone forth. Her husband generally yielded to her, but sometimes he put his foot down, as the saying is, and was not to be moved. She felt very much annoyed, but Randolph offered her a way of yielding gracefully.
“Oh, let the beggar come,” he said. “He will be good fun. I want to see how he will behave.”
“Since you wish it, Randolph,” said Mrs. Briggs, addressing herself pointedly to her son, “I will make no further objection. It is your party, and you ought to have your own way. But I shouldn’t think it was necessary for you to call on the boy. He is at some cheap boarding-house, I suppose.”
“Cheap, but perfectly respectable,” said Mr. Briggs.