“You see how he treats me,” he said plaintively to Katherine. “I haven’t had one kind word from that young pup since, when he was in high-school, he got so stuck on himself because he imagined every girl in town was in love with him.”
Bruce took Old Hosie’s silk hat from the piano and held it out to him.
“You certainly won’t get a kind word from me to-night if that steak is burnt!”
Katherine followed Hosie out upon the porch.
“He’s a great boy,” whispered the old man proudly—“if only I can lick his infernal conceit out of him!” He gripped her hand. “Good-by, and luck with you!”
She watched the bent, spare figure down the walk, then went in to Bruce. The editor was standing stiffly in the middle of the parlour.
“I trust that my call is not inopportune?”
“I’m glad to see you, but it does so happen that I promised father to call at five o’clock. And it’s now twenty minutes to.”
“Perhaps you will allow me to walk there with you?”
“But wouldn’t that be, ah—a little dangerous?”