She seemed indifferent to the fate of this
tender bud left at the mercy of one whom she affected to regard as a
seasoned roue.
There were four days of this regrettable philandering. On the fifth
Breede manifested alarming symptoms of recovery. He ceased to be the
meek man he was under actual suffering, and was several times guilty of
short-worded explosions that should never have reached the ears of good
women.
Said the flapper in tones of genuine dismay that evening:
"I'm afraid Pops is going to be well enough to go to town to-morrow!"
Even Grandma, pacing a bit of choice turf near at hand, rehearsing her
lines in the mob scene, was shocked at this.
"You are a selfish little pig!" she called.
"But _he_ will have to go away, if Pops goes," said the flapper, in
magnificent extenuation.
The words told. Grandma seemed to see things in a new light.
"You come with me," she commanded; "both of you."
Ahead of them she led the way to that pergola where Bean had once
overheard their talk.
"Sit down," said Grandma, and herself sat between them.
"You are a couple of children," she began accusingly. "Why, when I was
your age--" She broke off suddenly, and for some moments stared into the
tracery of vines.
"When I was your age," she began once more, but in a curiously altered
voice--"Lord! What a time of years!" She spoke slowly, softly, as one
who would evoke phantoms.
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