Little Lady of the Big House | Page 9

A huge stump, resting on a bed of coals, blazed
brightly. Two billiard tables, several card tables, lounging corners, and
a miniature bar constituted the major furnishing. Two young men
chalked their cues and returned Forrest's greeting.
"Good morning, Mr. Naismith," he bantered. "--More material for the
_Breeders' Gazette?"_
Naismith, a youngish man of thirty, with glasses, smiled sheepishly and
cocked his head at his companion.
"Wainwright challenged me," he explained.
"Which means that Lute and Ernestine must still be beauty-sleeping,"
Forrest laughed.

Young Wainwright bristled to acceptance of the challenge, but before
he could utter the retort on his lips his host was moving on and
addressing Naismith over his shoulder.
"Do you want to come along at eleven:thirty? Thayer and I are running
out in the machine to look over the Shropshires. He wants about ten
carloads of rams. You ought to find good stuff in this matter of Idaho
shipments. Bring your camera along.--Seen Thayer this morning?"
"Just came in to breakfast as we were leaving," Bert Wainwright
volunteered.
"Tell him to be ready at eleven-thirty if you see him. You're not invited,
Bert... out of kindness. The girls are sure to be up then."
"Take Rita along with you anyway," Bert pleaded.
"No fear," was Forrest's reply from the door. "We're on business.
Besides, you can't pry Rita from Ernestine with block-and-tackle."
"That's why I wanted to see if you could," Bert grinned.
"Funny how fellows never appreciate their own sisters." Forrest paused
for a perceptible moment. "I always thought Rita was a real nice sister.
What's the matter with her?"
Before a reply could reach him, he had closed the door and was jingling
his spurs along the passage to a spiral stairway of broad concrete steps.
As he left the head of the stairway, a dance-time piano measure and
burst of laughter made him peep into a white morning room, flooded
with sunshine. A young girl, in rose-colored kimono and boudoir cap,
was at the instrument, while two others, similarly accoutered, in each
other's arms, were parodying a dance never learned at dancing school
nor intended by the participants for male eyes to see.
The girl at the piano discovered him, winked, and played on. Not for
another minute did the dancers spy him. They gave startled cries,
collapsed, laughing, in each other's arms, and the music stopped. They

were gorgeous, healthy young creatures, the three of them, and
Forrest's eye kindled as he looked at them in quite the same way that it
had kindled when he regarded the Fotherington Princess.
Persiflage, of the sort that obtains among young things of the human
kind, flew back and forth.
"I've been here five minutes," Dick Forrest asserted.
The two dancers, to cover their confusion, doubted his veracity and
instanced his many well-known and notorious guilts of mendacity. The
girl at the piano, Ernestine, his sister-in-law, insisted that pearls of truth
fell from his lips, that she had seen him from the moment he began to
look, and that as she estimated the passage of time he had been looking
much longer than five minutes.
"Well, anyway," Forrest broke in on their babel, "Bert, the sweet
innocent, doesn't think you are up yet."
"We're not... to him," one of the dancers, a vivacious young Venus,
retorted. "Nor are we to you either. So run along, little boy. Run along."
"Look here, Lute," Forrest began sternly. "Just because I am a decrepit
old man, and just because you are eighteen, just eighteen, and happen
to be my wife's sister, you needn't presume to put the high and mighty
over on me. Don't forget--and I state the fact, disagreeable as it may be,
for Rita's sake--don't forget that in the past ten years I've paddled you
more disgraceful times than you care to dare me to enumerate.
"It is true, I am not so young as I used to was, but--" He felt the biceps
of his right arm and made as if to roll up the sleeve. "--But, I'm not all
in yet, and for two cents..."
"What?" the young woman challenged belligerently.
"For two cents," he muttered darkly. "For two cents... Besides, and it
grieves me to inform you, your cap is not on straight. Also, it is not a
very tasteful creation at best. I could make a far more becoming cap

with my toes, asleep, and... yes, seasick as well."
Lute tossed her blond head defiantly, glanced at her comrades in
solicitation of support, and said:
"Oh, I don't know. It seems humanly reasonable that the three of us can
woman-handle a mere man of your elderly and insulting avoirdupois.
What do you say, girls? Let's rush him. He's not a minute under forty,
and he has an aneurism. Yes, and though loath to divulge family