"No," says Bruce. "I don't think you ought to write. This is such a personal matter and a letter might seem—well, too formal."
"What shall I do, then?" demands Mrs. Mackey. "Telephone?"
"I hardly think one should telephone a message of that sort," says Bruce. "Someone ought to see him, explain the situation, and get his reply directly."
"Then you go, Bruce, dear," suggests Mrs. Mackey.
No, he shies at that. "Dick would resent my coming on such an errand," says Bruce. "Besides, I should feel obliged to urge him that it was his duty to go, and if he feels inclined to refuse—— Well, of course, we have done our part."
"Then you rather hope he'll refuse to come?" she asks.
"I don't allow myself to think any such thing," says Bruce. "It wouldn't be right. But if he should decide not to it would be rather a relief, wouldn't it? In that ease I suppose I should be obliged to act in his stead. He ought to be asked, though."
Mr. Robert chuckles. "I wish I had an acrobatic conscience such as yours, Bruce," says he. "I could amuse myself for hours watching it turn flip-flops."
"Too bad yours died so young," Bruce raps back at him.
"Oh, I don't know," says Mr. Robert. "There are compensations. I don't grow dizzy trying to follow it when it gets frisky. To get back to the main argument, however; just how do you think the news should be broken to Dick Harrington?"