“I’m afraid that father will be the one you’ll find it hard to convince.”
“Yes,” admitted her brother gloomily.
“Your Mabel sounds perfectly charming, but—well, you know what father is. It is a pity she sings in the chorus.”
“She hasn’t much of a voice,”—argued Bill—in extenuation.
“All the same—”
Archie, the conversation having reached a topic on which he considered himself one of the greatest living authorities—to wit, the unlovable disposition of his father-in-law—addressed the meeting as one who has a right to be heard.
“Lucille’s absolutely right, old thing.—Absolutely correct-o! Your esteemed progenitor is a pretty tough nut, and it’s no good trying to get away from it.-And I’m sorry to have to say it, old bird, but, if you come bounding in with part of the personnel of the ensemble on your arm and try to dig a father’s blessing out of him, he’s extremely apt to stab you in the gizzard.”
“I wish,” said Bill, annoyed, “you wouldn’t talk as though Mabel were the ordinary kind of chorus-girl. She’s only on the stage because her mother’s hard-up and she wants to educate her little brother.”
“I say,” said Archie, concerned. “Take my tip, old top. In chatting the matter over with the pater, don’t dwell too much on that aspect of the affair.—I’ve been watching him closely, and it’s about all he can stick, having to support me. If you ring in a mother and a little brother on him, he’ll crack under the strain.”
“Well, I’ve got to do something about it. Mabel will be over here in a week.”