n?"

The father replied with obvious effort.

"You know, Frankie, we have one small dog already," said he with forced
lightness.

"Oh! Kiki!"

"Couldn't you manage to make friends with Kiki?"

"_She_ doesn't really want Kiki to like me, Daddy." (Wise beyond his
years, marvelled Miss Beaver.) "Kiki doesn't really like little boys."

"Oh, my God, Frankie, don't go to crying again! Don't you see that Daddy
can't quarrel with Mother over a dog? Try to get well, old man, and
we'll see then what we can do. How about a pony, son?"

The little boy disappeared under the sheet, refusing to reply. Miss
Beaver could not bear his convulsive, hardly-controlled sobs, and turned
an accusing face upon Frank Wiley III.

"Is it possible," she asked icily, "that Frank's mother would actually
refuse him so small a thing as a puppy, if it meant the merest chance of
his getting better?"

The face turned to hers was gloomy, the voice impatient.

"Oh, good God! Was ever a man in such a damnable situation? My dear Miss
Beaver, ask the doctor to tell you how much influence I have in this
household, before you blame me for not taking a firm stand with a woman
as nervous and temperamental as Mrs. Wiley. I'd give my life willingly
to bring my boy back to health but unhappily I'm not like the founders
of our family. Some day I'll show you our family album. You'll find it
easy to trace the strong resemblance Frankie has to his forebears. Its
the damnably high spirit he gets from them that is so stubbornly killing
him now."

* * * * *

He rose, wheeled about and went to the door. Paused. Still with that
brooding dark look on his face he turned to her again.

"If my death would make it any easier for Frank, I wouldn't hesitate a
moment. I'm a failure. It wouldn't matter. But I feel that by living and
watching over him I'm standing between my boy's development as an
individual, and the subtlest, softest peril that could possibly threaten
him. I would rather he died, if he cannot bring about what he wills for
his own development. As for me, I ... I am a dead man walking futilely
among the living."

With that, he swung out of the room.

Miss Beaver knelt by the boy's bed, murmuring persuasively to him as she
strove to make him check his hysterical sobs.

"Frankie, you really must stop crying. You're too big a chap to cry and
it only makes you worse. If you're a good boy to-day and eat your food,
I'll let