n Vetch. Gideon Vetch._"

On the porch, where the stout man had returned to his newspaper, Patty
found Gershom standing beside the perambulator, with the black-eyed baby
in his arms. He was gazing gravely over the round bald head, and his
face wore a funereal expression which contrasted ludicrously with the
clucking sounds he was making to the attentive and interested baby. When
Patty joined him he put the child back into the carriage, carefully
tucking the crocheted robe about the tiny shoulders. "I kind of thought
the little one might like a chance to get out of that buggy," he
observed, while he straightened himself briskly, and adjusted his tie.

"She must be very ill," said the girl, as they went out of the gate and
turned down the street.

"A sure thing," replied Gershom concisely. Then he whistled sharply, and
added, "Rotten, that's what I call it."

"She said she'd never had a chance," remarked Patty thoughtfully, "I
wonder what she meant."

The funereal expression spread like a pall over Gershom's features, but
his intermittent whistle sounded as sprightly as ever. "Well, how many
folks in this world have ever had what you might call a decent chance?"
he asked.

"I don't know. I hadn't thought." The girl looked depressed and
puzzled. "It's a dreadful thing to think that nobody cares when you're
dying." Then her tone grew more hopeful. "Do you suppose anybody thinks
that Father never had a chance?" she asked.

Gershom broke into a laugh. "Well, if he had it, you may be pretty sure
that he made it himself," he retorted.

"Then I wish he could make some for other people."

"He says he's trying to, doesn't he? But between us, Patty, my child,
you won't forget what you have to say to the old man, will you?"

"What have I to say? Oh, you mean about standing by his friends?"

"That's just it. You tell him from yours truly that the best thing he
can do all round is to stick fast to his friends."

"And that means the strikers?"

"It means what I tell you."

"Well, I'll repeat exactly what you say; it won't make any difference if
his mind is made up."

"Maybe so. Are you going to tell him where you've been?"

"I don't know. I hate to worry him; but that poor woman must need help."

"Oh, she needs it. We all need it," remarked Gershom flippantly. Then,
as they reached the entrance to the Square, he held out his hand. "Well,
I'm off now, and I hope you aren't feeling any worse because of your
visit. Th