oing back to that grimy coal hole, are you?" blustered Mr. Bob Cabot.
"How you fellows can live there when you might spend your days in
Bost----"

The door slammed.

Mr. Carleton was gone.

Shrugging his shoulders Mr. Bob Cabot glanced at the clock. He had just
about time to dash off a necessary letter, dress, and get to the
University Club.

"Hannah!" he called.

A small dark-haired woman appeared in the doorway. She had sharp little
black eyes that twinkled a great deal, and she had a mouth that turned
up at the corners; furthermore she had a plump figure neatly dressed in
gray, and a white apron tied behind in an enormous and very spirited
bow.

"Yes, Mr. Bob."

"Hannah, Mr. Tom Curtis is in town with a rascal of a lawyer. They have
come to see about taking Jean to live in Pittsburgh."

"Pittsburgh! My soul, Mr. Bob! You'll not let her go, of course.
Pittsburgh, indeed! Don't we know that Boston----"

"We certainly do, Hannah. Nobody knows what Boston is better than we
do. But Mr. Tom Curtis unfortunately was not born in Boston."

"More's the pity! Still, I suppose he cannot be blamed for that. It
wasn't really his fault."

Mr. Bob Cabot laughed and dropped a big, kindly hand on the shoulder of
the woman beside him.

"I will try and impress upon him all that he has missed when I see him
to-night. I am to dine with him at the University Club at seven."

"You're not dining out!" ejaculated Hannah in dismay.

"I'm afraid so."

"Oh, Mr. Bob! And fried chicken for dinner--just the way you like it,
too."

"I'm sorry, Hannah."

"And me browning all those sweet potatoes!"

"I'm lots more disappointed than you are--truly I am. It can't be
helped, though. Now let me finish this letter and you go and lay out my
dress shirt and studs and things, or I'll be late."

Hannah darted from the room.

"I made you a Brown Betty pudding, too, Mr. Bob!" she called over her
shoulder. "But no matter. There is no evil without some good; your
trousers are freshly pressed and handsome as pictures--if I do say it
as shouldn't. I'll lay 'em out for you, and your dinner coat as well.
But to think of that pudding! Why couldn't Mr. Curtis have invited you
the night the beef stew was scorched."

* * * *

Promptly on the stroke of seven Uncle Bob Cabot presented himself at
the University Club, where Uncle Tom Curtis was waiting for him, and
the two men grasped hands cordially. Ho