“All right, pay it and simmer down. Isn't he wonderful, Jimsy? He just sent a check for ten thousand dollars to the fund for blind French soldiers and then begrudges his poor wife five dollars.”
“But that's charity and this is cards; and it's humiliating to think that you haven't learned addition yet.”
Mrs. Dyckman winked at Jim and motioned him to sit beside her. He could not help thinking of the humiliating addition he was about to announce to the family. While his father counted out the change with a miserly accuracy he winked his off eye at Jim and growled, with a one-sided smile:
“Where have you been for the past few days, and what mischief have you been up to? You have a guilty face.”
But Mrs. Dyckman threw her great arm about his great shoulders, stared at him as she kissed him, and murmured: “You don't look happy. What's wrong?”
Jim scraped his feet along the floor gawkily and mumbled: “Well, I suppose I'd better tell you. I was going to break it to you gently, but I don't know how.”
Mrs. Dyckman took alarm at once. “Break it gently? Bad news? Oh, Jim, you Haven't gone and got yourself engaged to some fool girl, have you? Not that?”
“Worse than that, mother!”
“Oh dear! what could be worse? Only one thing, Jim! You haven't—you haven't married a circus-rider or a settlement-worker or anything like that, have you?”
“No.”