know about those hearts,” I said, “the kind that cave in whenever their custodians can’t have their own way about everything. There’s an awful lot of heart disease that’s just one way of putting on a tantrum.”
“They’re really worse than tantrums,” declared Dorothy.
“That’s right,” I agreed. “You can spank a tantrum, but you’re afraid to paddle a defective heart.” We sat there in silence for a minute; then I said, “I’m afraid Millie will have to figure this out, herself. Perhaps her best course is for her to make a clean breast of it to her Auntie.”
“I suppose so,” said Dorothy, regretfully, “but Aunt Susan will have a fit.”
“Well,” I said, not very helpfully, “people have had fits, and got over them. By the way, have you been drawing any more pictures?”
She shook her head.
“I think I should like to make a little investment in you,” I said. “Your boats are pretty good, and they would be ever so much better if you had some lessons. And perhaps you would be able to do one for me. I, too, am very fond of the water.”
Her blue eyes widened and her pretty lips parted.
“Do you think I could, really?” she said, just above a whisper.
“It’s worth trying. I know a man who is well posted on local art schools. I want you to go and see him. He will give you good advice. I shall tell him to expect you.”
“Now?” asked Dorothy.
“When you get anything on your mind, you certainly don’t waste much time; do you?” I teased.
“But this is so important,” she replied soberly.
“Very well. I’ll call him up. Perhaps he will be free to talk to you this evening.”
I stepped back into my private office, closed the door and telephoned to Randolph, finding him at home as I had expected. I told him I had been talking with a young woman who thought of taking a course in drawing. Would he give her some counsel? Might she come out tonight? I omitted to say that I had any further interest than that in this art course.
“He will see you this evening,” I announced to Dorothy, writing Randolph’s address on a card. “And now I have an urgent request to make of you. You are not to tell Mr. Randolph that I am having anything to do with this matter. I don’t care what else you tell him about yourself; but you’re not to tell him that.”
“But I’d like to tell him,” insisted Dorothy. “If he is your good friend, wouldn’t he be glad to know that you were being kind to me? And what you did for us, about father, too.”
“Well, maybe, but that’s not the point. The point is that I do not want this told. I don’t want it told about your father, either. I’m very particular about this. Tell your mother never to talk about any of this, not even to her closest friend.”
“That’s funny,” said Dorothy, bewilderedly.
“It isn’t funny, at all!” I replied, bluntly. “It is an investment. And investments aren’t funny. They may be foolish, but they’re never funny.”
Dorothy blinked her long eyelashes a few times, and shook her head a little, dizzily; then she said, “I hope you won’t lose too much by, by investing in me; but what about father?”
“Now don’t worry me,” I commanded, rising. “You’re too young to understand. I couldn’t explain this to you, if I tried. You wouldn’t know what I was talking about.”
“Maybe I’m not as dumb as I look,” she said, smiling.
I was anxious for her to go now. I had had a long day, and needed some relaxation. I opened the door for her.
“Of course you are!” I declared.
“I hope,” she said, gently, extending her hand, “that I can pay it all back, sometime. Doctor Hudson.”
“That’s all right.” I waved a large overhand dismissal. “I don’t want any of it back; not a nickel of it; do you understand? I’m expecting to make use of it.”
“Well, good-bye!” she said, dazedly, fingering her cheap beads. Then she backed out through the door, regarding me with an odd
“They’re really worse than tantrums,” declared Dorothy.
“That’s right,” I agreed. “You can spank a tantrum, but you’re afraid to paddle a defective heart.” We sat there in silence for a minute; then I said, “I’m afraid Millie will have to figure this out, herself. Perhaps her best course is for her to make a clean breast of it to her Auntie.”
“I suppose so,” said Dorothy, regretfully, “but Aunt Susan will have a fit.”
“Well,” I said, not very helpfully, “people have had fits, and got over them. By the way, have you been drawing any more pictures?”
She shook her head.
“I think I should like to make a little investment in you,” I said. “Your boats are pretty good, and they would be ever so much better if you had some lessons. And perhaps you would be able to do one for me. I, too, am very fond of the water.”
Her blue eyes widened and her pretty lips parted.
“Do you think I could, really?” she said, just above a whisper.
“It’s worth trying. I know a man who is well posted on local art schools. I want you to go and see him. He will give you good advice. I shall tell him to expect you.”
“Now?” asked Dorothy.
“When you get anything on your mind, you certainly don’t waste much time; do you?” I teased.
“But this is so important,” she replied soberly.
“Very well. I’ll call him up. Perhaps he will be free to talk to you this evening.”
I stepped back into my private office, closed the door and telephoned to Randolph, finding him at home as I had expected. I told him I had been talking with a young woman who thought of taking a course in drawing. Would he give her some counsel? Might she come out tonight? I omitted to say that I had any further interest than that in this art course.
“He will see you this evening,” I announced to Dorothy, writing Randolph’s address on a card. “And now I have an urgent request to make of you. You are not to tell Mr. Randolph that I am having anything to do with this matter. I don’t care what else you tell him about yourself; but you’re not to tell him that.”
“But I’d like to tell him,” insisted Dorothy. “If he is your good friend, wouldn’t he be glad to know that you were being kind to me? And what you did for us, about father, too.”
“Well, maybe, but that’s not the point. The point is that I do not want this told. I don’t want it told about your father, either. I’m very particular about this. Tell your mother never to talk about any of this, not even to her closest friend.”
“That’s funny,” said Dorothy, bewilderedly.
“It isn’t funny, at all!” I replied, bluntly. “It is an investment. And investments aren’t funny. They may be foolish, but they’re never funny.”
Dorothy blinked her long eyelashes a few times, and shook her head a little, dizzily; then she said, “I hope you won’t lose too much by, by investing in me; but what about father?”
“Now don’t worry me,” I commanded, rising. “You’re too young to understand. I couldn’t explain this to you, if I tried. You wouldn’t know what I was talking about.”
“Maybe I’m not as dumb as I look,” she said, smiling.
I was anxious for her to go now. I had had a long day, and needed some relaxation. I opened the door for her.
“Of course you are!” I declared.
“I hope,” she said, gently, extending her hand, “that I can pay it all back, sometime. Doctor Hudson.”
“That’s all right.” I waved a large overhand dismissal. “I don’t want any of it back; not a nickel of it; do you understand? I’m expecting to make use of it.”
“Well, good-bye!” she said, dazedly, fingering her cheap beads. Then she backed out through the door, regarding me with an odd
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