ough you may have heard
of me. The Spraggs of Marblehead are well known--perhaps better than the
Pottingers. And yet, Mr. Griggs"--

"Riggs," suggested Prosper hurriedly.

"Riggs. Excuse me! I was thinking of young Lieutenant Griggs of the
Navy, whom I knew in the days now past. Mr. Riggs, I should say. Then
you want me to"--

"To be my old mother, ma'am," said Prosper tremblingly. "That is, to
pretend and look ez ef you was! You see, I haven't any, but I thought it
would be nice for the boys, and make it more like home in my new house,
ef I allowed that my old mother would be comin' to live with me. They
don't know I never had a mother to speak of. They'll never find it out!
Say ye will, Mrs. Pottinger! Do!"

And here the unexpected occurred. Against all conventional rules and
all accepted traditions of fiction, I am obliged to state that Mrs.
Pottinger did NOT rise up and order the trembling Prosper to leave the
house! She only gripped the arm of her chair a little tighter, leaned
forward, and disdaining her usual precision and refinement of speech,
said quietly: "It's a bargain. If THAT'S what you're wanting, my
son, you can count upon me as becoming your old mother, Cecilia Jane
Pottinger Riggs, every time!"

A few days later the sentimentalist Joe Wynbrook walked into the Wild
Cat saloon, where his comrades were drinking, and laid a letter down on
the bar with every expression of astonishment and disgust. "Look," he
said, "if that don't beat all! Ye wouldn't believe it, but here's Prossy
Riggs writin' that he came across his mother--his MOTHER, gentlemen--in
'Frisco; she hevin', unbeknownst to him, joined a party visiting the
coast! And what does this blamed fool do? Why, he's goin' to bring
her--that old woman--HERE! Here--gentlemen--to take charge of that new
house--and spoil our fun. And the God-forsaken idiot thinks that we'll
LIKE it!"

It was one of those rare mornings in the rainy season when there was a
suspicion of spring in the air, and after a night of rainfall the sun
broke through fleecy clouds with little islets of blue sky--when
Prosper Riggs and his mother drove into Wild Cat camp. An expression
of cheerfulness was on the faces of his old comrades. For it had been
recognized that, after all, "Prossy" had a perfect right to bring his
old mother there--his well-known youth and inexperience preventing this
baleful performance from being established as a precedent. For these
reasons hats were ch