it as a matter of course.
Did the father know that one of his sons had disappointed it?
Sam knew, at any rate; and Sam's mother knew; and each, aware of the
other's knowledge, tried pitifully to ignore it.

Matthew Wesley bounced from his chair, unlocked the glazed doors of a
bookcase behind him and pulled forth a small volume.

"Here you have it, sir, '_Maggots: by a Scholar_'--that's my brother.
'_Poems on Several Subjects never before Handled,_'--that's the man
all over. You may wager that if any man of sense had ever hit on
these subjects, my brother had never come within a mile of 'em.
Listen: 'The Grunting of a Hog,' 'To my Gingerbread Mistress,'
'A Box like an Egg,' 'Two Soldiers killing one another for a Groat,'
'A Pair of Breeches,' 'A Cow's Tail'--there's titles for you!
Cow's tail, indeed! And here, look you, is the author's portrait for
a frontispiece, with a laurel-wreath in his hair and a maggot in
place of a parting! 'Maggots'! He began with 'em and he'll end with
'em. Maggots!" He slammed the two covers of the book together and
tossed it across the table.

Mr. Garrett Wesley, during this tirade, had fallen back upon the
attitude of a well-bred man who has dropped in upon a painful family
quarrel and cannot well escape. He had taken his hat and stood with
his gaze for the most part fastened on the carpet, but lifted now and
then when directly challenged by the apothecary's harangue.
The contemned volume skimmed across the table and toppled over at his
feet. With much gravity he stooped and picked it up; and as he did
so, heard Mrs. Wesley addressing him.

"And the curious part of it is," she was saying calmly, "that my
brother-in-law means all this in kindness!"

"No, I don't," snapped Matthew; and in the next breath, "well, yes, I
do then. Susanna, I beg your pardon, but you'd provoke a saint."
He dropped into his chair. "You know well enough that if I lose my
temper, 'tis for your sake and the girls'."

"I know," she said softly, covering his hand with hers. "But you
must e'en let us go our feckless way. Sir,"--she looked up--
"must this decision be made to-night?"

"Not at all, ma'am, not at all. The lad, if you will, may choose
when he comes of age; I have another string to my bow, should he
refuse the offer. But meantime, and while 'tis uncertain to which of
us he'll end by belonging, I hope I may bear my part in his school
fees."

"But that, to some extent, must bind him