" "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling. He sat in much the same attitude, and she stood just as she had stood when he told her she could not go to the Fadden Dance. These girls wore hats at remarkable angles and bows to startle and kill; they liked to be right on the spot every time and up to everything that was it from the very beginning and they rendered their conception of Socialists and all reformers by the words “positively frightening” and “weird. This was his sister, evidently in the last extremity. I am yours for the making over. She longed to allow him to kiss her again, to touch her again. He was yellow and coarse of hair; flea-bitten, too; and even as he smiled at Ruth and wagged his stumpy tail, he was forced to turn savagely upon one of these disturbers who had no sense of the fitness of things. “Are you A, B, C, or D?” he asked. It will be horribly dull, and she is a very trying person.
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