should you say Blakeley had been going on?" he asked Briggs.

"You never can tell," Briggs responded. "I think he doesn't know
himself."

"Well said, youthful scribe! With such listeners as you two, I could
go on forever. Consider yourselves clapped jovially on the back, my
gentle Briggs; I can't get up to do it from the hollow of your bed
here. As you were saying, the wonder about these elderly widows who
keep boarding-houses is the domestic dilapidation they fall into. If
they've ever known how to cook a meal or sweep a room or make a bed,
these arts desert them in the presence of their boarders. Their only
aim in life seems to be preventing the escape of their victims, and
they either let them get into debt for their board or borrow money
from them. But why do they always have daughters, and just two of
them: one beautiful, fashionable, and devoted to the piano; the other
willing to work, but pale, pathetic, and incapable of the smallest
achievement with the gridiron or the wash-board? It's a thing to make
a person want to pay up and leave, even if he's reading law. If
Wallace, here, had the spirit of a man, he would collect the money
owing him, and--"

"Oh, stop it, Blakeley!" Wallace stormed. "I should think you'd get
tired of your talk yourself."

"Well, as you insist--"

Blakeley began again, but Briggs jumped to his feet and caught up
Phillips's carpet-bag, and looked wildly around. "It's gravel, this
time."

"Well, take your hat, Briggs. It may be a prolonged struggle. But
remember that Phillips's cause is just. He's paid his board, and he
has a perfect right to leave. She has no right to prevent him. Think
of that when the fray is at its worst. But try to get him off quietly,
if you can. Deal gently with the erring, while you stand firm for
boarders' rights. Remember that Phillips is sneaking off in order to
spare her feelings and has come pretty near prevarication in the
effort. Have you got your shoes off? No; it's your rubbers on. That's
better."

Briggs faltered with the carpet-bag in his hand. "Boys, I don't like
this. It feels--clandestine."

"It _looks_ that way, too," Blakeley admitted. "It has an air of
conspiracy."

"I've got half a mind to let Phillips come in and get his bag
himself."

"It would serve him right, though I don't know why, exactly. He has a
right to spare his own feelings if he's sparing hers at the same time.
Of course he's afraid she'll plead with him to stay, and he'