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“There is a difference.”

“He only wanted taking out of himself. I think he found his sister Florence’s influence a little oppressive sometimes.”

“No, but see here,” I said, “are you going to marry him?”

“I’m only a palmist. I don’t pretend to be a clairvoyant. A marriage may be indicated in Mr. Craye’s hand, but I couldn’t say without looking at it.”

“But I shall have to tell her something definite, or she won’t give me a moment’s peace.”

“Tell her her brother is of age. Surely that’s definite enough?”

And I couldn’t get any more out of her. I went back to Florence and reported. She got pretty excited about it.

“Oh, if I were a man!” she said.

I didn’t see how that would have helped. I said so.

“I’d go straight to Edwin and drag him away. He is staying at his club. If I were a man I could go in and find him—-“

“Not if you weren’t a member,” I said.

“–And tell him what I thought of his conduct. As I’m only a woman, I have to wait in the hall while a deceitful small boy pretends to go and look for him.”

It had never struck me before what a splendid institution a club was. Only a few days back I’d been thinking that the subscription to mine was a bit steep. But now I saw that the place earned every cent of the money.

“Have you no influence with him, Reginald?”

I said I didn’t think I had. She called me something. Invertebrate, or something. I didn’t catch it.

“Then there’s only one thing to do. You must find my father and tell him all. Perhaps you may rouse him to a sense of what is right. You may make him remember that he has duties as a parent.”

I thought it far more likely that I should make him remember that he had a foot. I hadn’t a very vivid recollection of old man Craye. I was quite a kid when he made his great speech on the Egg Question and beat it for Europe–but what I did recollect didn’t encourage me to go and chat with him about the duties of a parent.

As I remember him, he was a rather large man with elephantiasis of the temper. I distinctly recalled one occasion when I was spending a school vacation at his home, and he found me trying to shave old Duggie, then a kid of fourteen, with his razor.

“I shouldn’t be able to find him,” I said.

“You can get his address from his lawyers.”

“He may be at the North Pole.”

“Then you must go to the North Pole.”

“But say—-!”

“Reginald!”

“Oh, all right.”

I knew just what would happen. Parbury and Stevens, the lawyers, simply looked at me as if I had been caught snatching bags. At least, Stevens did. And Parbury would have done it, too, only he had been dead a good time. Finally, after drinking me in for about a quarter of an hour, Stevens said that if I desired to address a communication to his client, care of this office, it would be duly forwarded. Good morning. Good morning. Anything further? No, thanks. Good morning. Good morning.

I handed the glad news on to Florence and left her to do what she liked about it. She went down and interviewed Stevens. I suppose he’d had experience of her. At any rate, he didn’t argue. He yielded up the address in level time. Old man Craye was living in Paris, but was to arrive in New York that night, and would doubtless be at his club.

It was the same club where Edwin was hiding from Florence. I pointed this out to her.

“There’s no need for me to butt in after all,” I said. “He’ll meet Edwin there, and they can fight it out in the smoking room. You’ve only to drop him a line explaining the facts.”

“I shall certainly communicate with him in writing, but, nevertheless, you must see him. I cannot explain everything in a letter.”