"What do you think?" cried Stillwater, bursting in on his family about dinner hour. "He won't allow you to go with me on that sailing trip. He says I must go alone."
"Well, pa, you go right back and tell him that we wouldn't think of allowing you to do anything of the kind."
"His office hours are over now, Indiana," said Stillwater, smiling placidly. "Will to-morrow morning do?"
"Oh, father, it would just break my heart to see you going off alone and sick, too."
"Not to be thought of for a minute," said Mrs. Bunker.
"I told him you wouldn't hear of it." Stillwater leaned back in his chair, watching with evident enjoyment the effect of his words. "He said that to confine a perfectly normal person on a sailing vessel for three months with his wife, his daughter, and his mother-in-law, would make him a nervous wreck for life."
"Did he say that, pa?"
"Practically, Indiana."
"Brute," said Mrs. Bunker. "If he once had the privilege of making my acquaintance he might change his views on the matter."
"He might fall all over himself to become one of the sailing party himself then," remarked Stillwater chuckling. "Well, he said I should talk it over with the ladies."