ly discussions--I want to take you and Master Phil to task
together. You are both of you negligent of social duties--duties they
are, Ruthie, for man was not born to serve alone--though Phil is far
better than you, with your queer habits, and Heaven only knows where
you got them, neither your father nor your dear sainted mother was
slack or selfish----"

"Dear auntie, let's admit that I'm a black sheep with a little black
muzzle and a habit of butting all sorts of ash-cans; and let Phil go
on his social way rejoicing."

Ruth was jaunty, but her voice was strained, and she bit her lip with
staccato nervousness when she was not speaking. Carl ventured to face
the dragon.

"Mrs. Winslow, I'm sure Ruth has been better than you think; she has
been learning all these fiendishly complicated new dances. You know a
poor business man like myself finds them----"

"Yes," said Aunt Emma, "I am sure she will always remember that she
is a Winslow, and must carry on the family traditions, but sometimes I
am afraid she gets under bad influences, because of her good nature."
She said it loudly. She looked Carl in the eye.

The whole table stopped talking. Carl felt like a tramp who has kicked
a chained bulldog and discovers that the chain is broken.

He wanted to be good; not make a scene. He noticed with intense
indignation that Phil was grinning. He planned to get Phil off in a
corner, not necessarily a dark corner, and beat him. He wanted to
telegraph Ruth; dared not. He realized, in a quarter-second, that he
must have been discussed by the Family, and did not like it.

Every one seemed to be waiting for him to speak. Awkwardly he said,
wondering all the while if she meant what her tone said she meant, by
"bad influences":

"Yes, but----Just going to say----I believe settlement work is a good
influence----"

"Please don't discuss----" Ruth was groaning, when Aunt Emma sternly
interrupted:

"It is good of you to take up the cudgels, Mr. Ericson, and please
don't misjudge me--of course I realize that I am only a silly old
woman and that my passion to see the Winslows keep to their fine
standards is old-fashioned, but you see it is a hobby of mine that
I've devoted years to, and you who haven't known the Winslows so very
long----" Her manner was almost courteous.

"Yes, that's so," Carl mumbled, agreeably, just as she dropped the
courtesy and went on:

"----you can't judge--in fact (this is nothing personal, you know) I