"We shall probably not see you at home much in the future," Mrs. Whipple said to Mr. Porter, who lay in invalid ease on a lounge, with a Roman comforter over his knees. "You'll be sure to become the worst of gad-abouts—Europe, the far East, and all that."
Porter groaned, knowing that she was mocking him.
"I guess not," he said, emphatically. "I never expect to have any time for loafing, and you can't teach an old dog new tricks."
"Well, you're going now, anyhow. Don't let this girl get into mischief while you're away. An invalid father—only a young brother to care for her and keep the suitors away! Be sure and bring her back without a trail of encumbrances. Grant," she said, turning to the boy, "you must protect Evelyn from those Eastern men."
"I'll do my best," the lad answered. "Evelyn doesn't like dudes, and Warry says all the real men live out West."
"I guess that's right," said Mr. Porter.
She rose, gathering her wrap about her. Grant rose as she did. His manners were very nice, and he walked into the hall and took up his hat to go down to the car with Mrs. Whipple. It was dusk, and a man was going through the grounds lighting the lamps. Mrs. Whipple talked with her usual vivacity of the New Hampshire school which the boy had attended, and of the trip he was about to make with his father and sister. They stood at the curb in front of the Porter gate waiting for her car. A buggy stopped near them and a man alighted and stood talking to a companion who remained seated.
"Is this the way to Mr. Porter's stable?" one of the men called to them.
"Yes," Grant answered, as he stepped into the street to signal the car. The man who had alighted got back into the buggy as if to drive into the grounds. The street light overhead hissed and then burned brightly above them. Mrs. Whipple turned and saw one of the men plainly. The car came to a stop; Grant helped her aboard, and waved his hand to her as she gained the platform.