ing for it--a whacking one. He
wouldn't be Caspian if he hadn't boasted!

I happened to be at Kidd's Pines when he was making this dramatic
announcement. (I told you Jack and I were motoring over in the old car,
but we went earlier than we expected, because just as I had finished
your letter Patsey 'phoned to ask us for a "picnic luncheon in the
burnt-up house.")

Caspian was telephoning like mad when we arrived, and only finished just
as luncheon was ready, which gave him an excuse for letting his left
hand, to say nothing of both feet, know what his right hand had been
doing. I suppose he was afraid, if Jack and I were left to hear the news
from Pat, a little of the gilt might be off the gingerbread. So he
launched his own thunderbolt as we sat down at the table: Larry, Pat,
Mrs. Shuster, Jack, and I.

I was so flabbergasted that I can't remember his words. But they were
those of the noble, misunderstood hero of melodrama to his ungrateful
sweetheart and her ruined father who have never appreciated his sterling
worth. He let them jolly well know, and rubbed it in, that he would
_never_ have spent such an enormous sum on anything for himself: that
indeed, though he _ought_ to have received the Stanislaws house as an
inheritance, he had abandoned all idea of possessing it until Pat
expressed intense admiration for the place. With this incentive, the
moment they were engaged he had begun negotiations. The price asked was
so outrageous, however, that he was on the point of refusing when
misfortune fell upon Kidd's Pines. It would now be impossible to
continue living there in comfort for the present, so he (Caspian) had
spent his morning in fixing up by 'phone the business of purchase. Of
course he would have to go to New York, and see Mr. Strickland, who had
the matter in hand. Indeed, he intended to start directly after
luncheon; but he could not bear to go without relieving the family mind
of its anxieties.

Poor little Pat was scarlet, and her eyes were--I was going to say like
saucers, but I think they were more like large, expressive pansies. "Oh,
you _shouldn't_ have done that for me!" she exclaimed. "Of course, I'm
grateful, and it was ver-r-y good of you, but----"

"Didn't you say you would _love_ to live in that house?" Caspian
cross-questioned her over a pickle. (He's disgustingly fond of pickles:
makes a beast of himself on pickles!)

"Yes, I suppose I did," Patsey admitted; and got out a "but" again, bu