"I thought I'd make the ac-acquaintance of the young lady," he began
doubtfully. "I saw her admiring at the stars and I--"

"Oh, you did!" snarled Hudson. "All right. Now go and make acquaintance
with the bottom step." He thrust a long, hard hand at Dickie's chest, and
the boy fell backward, clattering ruefully down the steps with a rattle
of thin knees and elbows. At the bottom he lay for a minute, painfully
huddled in the snow.

"Go in, Miss Sheila," said Sylvester. "I'm sorry my son came home
to-night and frightened you. He usually has more sense. He'll have more
sense next time."

He ran down the steps, but before he could reach the huddled figure it
gathered itself fearfully together and fled, limping and staggering
across the yard, through the gate and around the corner of the street.

Hudson came up, breathing hard.

"Where's Sheila?" he asked sharply.

"She ran upstairs," said Babe. "Ain't it a shame? What got into Dick?"

"Something that will get kicked out of him good and proper to-morrow,"
said his father grimly.

He stood at the bottom of the steep, narrow stairs, looking up, his hands
thrust into his pockets, his under lip stuck out. His eyes were unusually
gentle and pensive.

"I wouldn't 'a' had her scared that way for anything," he said, "not for
anything. That's likely to spoil all my plans."

He swore under his breath, wheeled about, and going into the parlor he
shut the door and began walking to and fro. Babe crept rather quietly up
the stairs. There were times when even Babe was afraid of "Poppa."

CHAPTER V

INTERCESSION

Babe tiptoed up the first flight, walked solidly and boldly up the
second, and ran up the third. She had decided to have a talk with Sheila,
to soothe her indignation, and, if possible, to explain Dickie. It seemed
to Babe that Dickie needed explanation.

Sheila's room was at the top of the house--the very room, in fact, whose
door opened on the bird cage of a balcony between two cupolas. Babe came
to the door and knocked. A voice answered sharply: "Come in," and Babe,
entering, shut the door and leaned against it.

It was a small, bare, whitewashed room, with a narrow cot, a washstand,
a bureau, and two extraordinary chairs--a huge one that rocked on
damaged springs, enclosed in plaited leather like the case of an
accordion, and one that had been a rocker, but stood unevenly on its
diminished legs. Babe had protested against Momma's disposal of the
"girl