accent was encouraging.

"If Mr. Thayer should fall in love and get engaged, what could the girl
call him? His name doesn't lend itself easily to endearments."

"His mother ought to have thought of that, when she named him."

"It is a case of visiting the father's sins upon the child of the sixth
generation. He is only Volume Seven in the series of Cotton Mathers."

Bobby plunged his fists into his pockets.

"That is a respectable custom; but a mighty stupid one. A fellow
oughtn't to be labelled like one of a class. Might as well catalogue
children, and done with it, Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and so on through the
list of Thayers. Then, when he came to years of discretion, he could
pick for himself. Do you suppose I would have been Bobby, if I had been
consulted?"

"What then?" Beatrix asked, pausing in her talk with Lorimer.

"Demosthenes Alphonso, of course. That's something worth while."

"Demosthenes Alphonso Dane. D. A. D." Sally commented irrepressibly.
Then she swept across the room and, parting the curtains, peeped out
between them. "Beatrix, the Philistines be upon you! Here comes Mrs.
Lloyd Avalons. Oh, why was I the first to come? As a rule, I believe in
the rotation of callers as implicitly as I do in the rotation of crops.
Bobby, you came next. How long do you mean to stay?"

"Till the almonds are gone, or till Beatrix turns me out," he replied
imperturbably.

"All right. Give me five minutes' warning. You can twirl your thumbs,
when it is time for me to start; but I am bound to see some of the fun."

"Now, children, you must be good," Beatrix implored them hurriedly.
"Bobby, do try to talk about something she can understand."

"If you want to condemn me to the conversational limits of a mummy, say
so in plain Saxon," he retorted. "How can I talk about something that
doesn't exist?"

"Bobby!" Sally's tone was full of warning, as Beatrix rose to meet her
guest.

Mrs. Lloyd Avalons had gained one distinct point in her social training.
She had learned to cross a room as if she were doing her hostess a favor
by appearing. Even Beatrix was impressed by the swift, dainty sweep with
which she came forward, and she cast a hasty thought to the quality of
her tea. Bobby, meanwhile, was taking mental stock of Mrs. Lloyd
Avalons's tailor and deciding that he could give points to his own
fellow. For a person who professed to ignore all such detail, Bobby
Dane was singularly critical of feminine dress, as Beat