--had been expelled for having beer in his room; but during his
long summer vacations, spent precariously at hotels or in short visits
to his father's friends, young Speranza had learned to be tolerant.
Tolerance was a necessary virtue in the circle surrounding Speranza
Senior, in his later years. The popping of corks at all hours of the
night and bottles full, half full or empty, were sounds and sights to
which Albert had been well accustomed. When one has more than once seen
his own father overcome by conviviality and the affair treated as a huge
joke, one is not inclined to be too censorious when others slip. What
if the queer old Keeler guy was tight? Was that anything to raise such a
row about?

Plainly, he decided, this was a strange place, this household of his
grandparents. His premonition that they might be "Rubes" seemed
likely to have been well founded. What would his father--his great,
world-famous father--have thought of them? "Bah! these Yankee
bourgeoisie!" He could almost hear him say it. Miguel Carlos Speranza
detested--in private--the Yankee bourgeoisie. He took their money and
he married one of their daughters, but he detested them. During his last
years, when the money had not flowed his way as copiously, the detest
grew.

"You won't say anything about Laban before Mrs. Ellis, will you,
Albert?" persisted Mrs. Snow. "She's dreadful sensitive. I'll explain by
and by."

He promised, repressing a condescending smile.

Both the housekeeper and Captain Snow returned in a few minutes. The
latter reported that the mare was safe and sound in her stall.

"The harness was mostly on the floor, but Jess was all right, thank the
Lord," observed the captain.

"Jess is our horse's name, Albert," explained Mrs. Snow. "That is, her
name's Jessamine, but Zelotes can't ever seem to say the whole of any
name. When we first bought Jessamine I named her Magnolia, but he
called her 'Mag' all the time and I COULDN'T stand that. Have some more
preserves, Albert, do."

All through the meal Albert was uneasily conscious that his grandfather
was looking at him from under the shaggy brows, measuring him,
estimating him, reading him through and through. He resented the
scrutiny and the twinkle of sardonic humor which, it seemed to him,
accompanied it. His way of handling his knife and fork, his clothes, his
tie, his manner of eating and drinking and speaking, all these Captain
Zelotes seemed to note and appraise. But wha