l.

Largely because it is the perverse nature of man to believe that the
Fates have set him in the wrong groove, Farwell, like many others whose
lives have been spent in exclusively masculine surroundings, believed
his tastes to be domestic. Not that he had ever pushed this belief
beyond the theoretical stage; nor would he have exchanged places with
any of his confreres who had taken wives. But he railed inwardly at the
intense masculinity of his life, for the same reason that the sailorman
curses the sea and the plainsman the plains. Just as the tragedian is
certain in his inmost soul that his proper role is light comedy, while
the popular comedian is equally positive that he should be starring in
the legitimate; so Farwell, harsh, dominant, impatient, brutal on
occasion, a typical lone male of his species, knowing little of and
caring less for the softer side of life, cherished a firm belief that
his proper place was the exact centre of a family circle.

Although he had never seen a home that he cared beans about--including
the one of his childhood--the singing of "Home, Sweet Home" invariably
left him pensive for half an hour. Theoretically--heretofore always
strictly theoretically--he possessed a strong _dulce domum_ impulse.
And so the spectacle of Sheila mending her brother's shirts was one of
which he thoroughly approved. It gave him a feeling of intimacy, as
though he had been admitted to the performance of a domestic rite.

Sheila picked up a second shirt, inspected it critically, and frowned.
"Now, isn't that a wreck?" she observed. "Sandy's awfully hard on his
shirts." She nipped a thread recklessly between her teeth, shot the end
deftly through the needle's eye, and sighed. "Oh, well, I suppose I
must just do the best I can with the thing."

"Your brother is lucky," said Farwell. "My things get thrown away. No
one to look after them when they begin to go."

"That's very wasteful," she reproved him. "Why don't you send them
somewhere?"

"Where, for instance?"

"Oh, anywhere. I don't know. There must be women in every town who
would like to earn a little money."

"Well, I haven't time to hunt for them. If you know any one around here
who would undertake the job, I could give her quite a bit of work. So
could the others."

"You don't mean me, do you?" laughed Sheila. "Sandy gives me all I can
handle."

"Of course I never thought of such a thing," said Farwell seriously.
"Did it sound like that?"