“All about her. Do you suppose I never read a novel?”
“I thought you read nothing but Greek and Latin, with an occasional glance at Websky's pseudophites and the monoclinics of Johanngeorgenstadt.”
Mac opened his eyes wide at this reply, then seemed to see the joke and joined in the laugh with such heartiness that Aunt Plenty's voice was heard demanding from above with sleepy anxiety: “Is the house afire?”
“No, ma'am, everything is safe, and I'm only saying good night,” answered Mac, diving for his cap.
“Then go at once and let that child have her sleep,” added the old lady, retiring to her bed.
Rose ran into the hall, and catching up her uncle's fur coat, met Mac as he came out of the study, absently looking about for his own.
“You haven't any, you benighted boy! So take this, and have your wits about you next time or I won't let you off so easily,” she said, holding up the heavy garment and peeping over it, with no sign of displeasure in her laughing eyes.
“Next time! Then you do forgive me? You will try me again, and give me a chance to prove that I'm not a fool?” cried Mac, embracing the big coat with emotion.
“Of course I will, and, so far from thinking you a fool, I was much impressed with your learning tonight and told Steve that we ought to be proud of our philosopher.”
“Learning be hanged! I'll show you that I'm not a bookworm but as much a man as any of them, and then you may be proud or not, as you like!” cried Mac with a defiant nod that caused the glasses to leap wildly off his nose as he caught up his hat and departed as he came.