irely too much liberty with his bachelor
quarters and his junior whipper-snapper club, and his house parties and
his cruises on Neergard's boat!"

He got up, casting his cigar from him, and moved about bulkily,
muttering of matters to be regulated, and firmly, too. But Selwyn,
looking out of the window across the Park, knew perfectly well that
young Erroll, now of age, with a small portion of his handsome income
at his mercy, was past the regulating stage and beyond the authority of
Austin. There was no harm in him; he was simply a joyous,
pleasure-loving cub, chock full of energetic instincts, good and bad,
right and wrong, out of which, formed from the acts which become habits,
character matures. This was his estimate of Gerald.

* * * * *

The next morning, riding in the Park with Eileen, he found a chance to
speak cordially of her brother.

"I've meant to look up Gerald," he said, as though the neglect were his
own fault, "but every time something happens to switch me on to another
track."

"I'm afraid that I do a great deal of the switching," she said; "don't
I? But you've been so nice to me and to the children that--"

Miss Erroll's horse was behaving badly, and for a few moments she became
too thoroughly occupied with her mount to finish her sentence.

The belted groom galloped up, prepared for emergencies, and he and
Selwyn sat their saddles watching a pretty battle for mastery between a
beautiful horse determined to be bad and a very determined young girl
who had decided he was going to be good.

Once or twice the excitement of solicitude sent the colour flying into
Selwyn's temples; the bridle-path was narrow and stiff with freezing
sand, and the trees were too near for such lively manoeuvres; but Miss
Erroll had made up her mind--and Selwyn already had a humorous idea that
this was no light matter. The horse found it serious enough, too, and
suddenly concluded to be good. And the pretty scene ended so abruptly
that Selwyn laughed aloud as he rejoined her:

"There was a man--'Boots' Lansing--in Bannard's command. One night on
Samar the bolo-men rushed us, and Lansing got into the six-foot major's
boots by mistake--seven-leaguers, you know--and his horse bucked him
clean out of them."

"Hence his Christian name, I suppose," said the girl; "but why such a
story, Captain Selwyn? I believe I stuck to my saddle?"

"With both hands," he said cordially, always alert to plag