Phebe, Her Profession - A Sequel to Teddy: Her Book | Page 9

at my mercy; you couldn't escape. Allyn can fight
and run away; that makes him doubly dangerous. He does fight, too. He
is a dear boy, Billy; but I honestly think that, if he goes on, he won't
have a friend left in town. He is a veritable porcupine, and his quills are
always rising."
"He has the worst of it. But I do wish you needn't worry about him,
Ted"
"I don't really worry; only I wish more people knew the other side of
the boy. But now prepare yourself for a shock. It is Babe, this time. She
is going to study medicine."
"What!"

"Yes. She came home for that."
"Phebe a doctor! She is about as well fitted for it as for a--plumber."
"So I think; but to hear her talk about it, one would think her whole aim
in life was wholesale surgery. She appears to revel in grim details of
arteries and ligaments. The fact is, she is restless and wants some
occupation, and this seems to appeal to her."
"I believe I know how she feels. I went through something the same
experience, my last year in college," Billy said thoughtfully. "It is a
species of mental growing pains; one wants to do something, without
knowing just what. I don't believe Babe will ever write M.D. after her
name, and I devoutly hope she won't kill too many people in trying for
it; but the study will be good for her. She has played long enough, and
a little steady grind will help her to work off some of her extra energy.
Let her go on."
Theodora rose and stood leaning on the back of his chair.
"You are such a comfort, Billy," she said gratefully. "I was afraid you
would be horrified at the idea, and feel that Phebe didn't appreciate all
your mother has done for her. It was a great deal for her to take a young
girl like Babe for two years, and give her the best of Europe. Babe
knows it, and she almost reveres your mother." She was silent for a
moment. Then she said impetuously, "Billy, are my family too near?"
"Of course not. Why?"
"Are they too much in evidence? We belong to each other, you and I; I
want you all to myself, and it seems as if my people were always
coming in to interrupt us,--not they themselves, but worries about them.
I love them dearly, and I want them; but I could be content on a desert
island alone with you. I never have half enough of you, and sha'n't, as
long as I have to bring up Allyn and Phebe and Hubert. Your family are
well-behaved; they stay in the background."
"They may crop up unexpectedly," Mr. Farrington answered, in a burst

of prophecy of whose truth he was unconscious. "But what about the
book, Teddy? It is time you were at work."
Theodora clasped her hands at the back of her head and began to pace
the floor. Her step was as free and lithe as that of an active boy; and her
pale gown brightened the color in her cheeks and in the glossy coils of
her hair. Her husband looked up at her proudly. They had been
comrades before they had been lovers; and, from the day of their first
meeting to the present hour, his admiration and his loyalty had been
boundless and unswerving. Suddenly she paused before him.
"William," she said; "I am lazy, utterly lazy. It is so good to be at home
again and keeping house all by our two selves that I want to enjoy
myself for a space. For a month, a whole month longer, I am going to
play and have the good of life. Then I shall shut myself up and say
farewell to the world while I create a masterpiece that will rend your
heart and your tear glands. Only," she dropped down on a footstool
beside him; "only I do hope that Allyn and Babe will return to their
wonted habits, and that this new cook will learn that one doesn't usually
mash macaroni before bringing it to the table. If it were not for the
souls and the digestions of our families, Billy, we could all produce
great works."
CHAPTER FOUR
Theodora Farrington's saving grace lay in her sense of humor. It had
saved her from many dangers, from none more insidious than that
lurking in five years' experience as a successful author. It had rescued
her from the slough of despond when unappreciative publishers
rejected her most ambitious attempts; it had come to her aid also when
a southern admirer whose intentions were better than his rhetoric, sent
her a manuscript ode constructed in her honor. She had won