"Papa says those parades are perfect nonsense," Mrs. Childs said; "what good do they do, anyhow?"
"We stand up to be counted," Laura explained.
"Papa won't allow it," her mother repeated, placidly.
"I'm sure Mr. Weston will use his influence to prevent Freddy's doing it," said Mrs. Payton.
Then the two ladies exchanged their usual melancholy comments on the times, and Laura listened, making her own silent comments on one fallacy after another, but preserving always her sweet and cheerful indifference to their grievances. She looked at the clock once or twice—surely she had given Howard and Fred time enough! But she waited for still another ten minutes, then, coughing carefully on the staircase, went down to the parlor.
Her consideration was unnecessary. Howard, standing with his hands in his pockets, his back to the fire, had been telling Frederica that he was going in for conchology seriously. "I know you don't think shells are worth much," he ended, after giving her what he called a "spiel" as to why he was going and what he was going to do. "But to me conchology is like searching for buried treasure! I've been pawing round for a real job, and now I've got it. I don't have to earn money, so I can earn work! And I think research work means as much to the world as—as anything else. I wanted you to know it was a real thing to me," he ended, gravely.
"Shells aren't awfully vital to civilization," she said.
He made no effort to justify his choice; he had confessed the faith that was in him, but it was too intimate to discuss, even with so good a fellow as old Freddy. ("You can't expect a woman to understand that sort of thing," he told himself; "women don't catch on to science—except Laura. She sees the importance of it.") Then he broke out about Laura's hat. "Isn't it dinky?"
"Yes," Fred said, impatiently; they were talking like two strangers! "Howard, I hate to have you away in April. We're going to have our parade then, and I counted on you."