The books that they read frequently led to arguments-friendly debates, and these were Carl's special delight. He liked to pretend that he was addressing a jury, and would launch forth into a flood of eloquence, to which Paul listened very respectfully, usually taking care not to contradict his cousin or to wound his vanity by remaining unconvinced by his oratory. But sometimes he would get carried away himself, and a vigorous battle would follow, in which Paul had only his clear, simple reasoning to pit against Carl's confusing knowledge. But both of them enjoyed it; Carl loved to dispute any point at all, and Paul "liked the exercise."

But in the long run, Paul found Carl's favorite occupations very little to his taste. He grew weary of his cousin's books, with their long-winded dissertations, he positively hated the dim room; and the innumerable games of checkers that they played, when Carl's eyes finally began to improve, gradually developed in him a profound detestation of that pastime. His only satisfaction came to him from his aunt's and uncle's grat.i.tude.

By the end of the month Carl was well enough to sit up in a chair by the window for three or four hours a clay, and even to take off his eyeshade for a little while in the evening when the light was softer. The family happiness over this improvement was boundless, and in the late afternoons everyone gathered in Carl's room. These were gay occasions, and even Mr. Lambert, who always sat beside his son, and never took his eyes from his face, cracked jokes, and laughed and was in the best humor imaginable.

One Sunday afternoon they were thus collected-all of them, including Granny, who sat rocking serenely back and forth, smiling benignly and a little absent-mindedly upon them all, winding a skein of deep magenta wool, which Lottie held for her. The whole room was in pleasant disorder, books and games lay scattered around, for Mr. Lambert had relaxed his usual strict Sabbath rules while Carl was ill, and permitted all sorts of uncustomary amus.e.m.e.nts. Minie was cutting new paper dolls out of the Sunday paper, and painting them in glorious hues. Everyone was gossiping and chattering-everyone, that is except Jane and Paul, who sat on the little bench that made a seat in the embrasure of the cas.e.m.e.nt window.

Jane, who had missed her cousin severely during the last weeks, was content to have him with her again, and sat beside him, looking through the section of the newspaper that Minie had graciously spared. Paul, a trifle out of spirits, was staring out of the window. It was open, admitting a gentle evening breeze, which rustled through the full-blown foliage of Jane's beloved nut-tree. Below, on the other side of the street some children were playing hop-scotch. And from somewhere came the sound of boyish voices singing in "close harmony"-"I was seeing Nelly ho-ome, I was seeing Nelly home, It was from Aunt Dinah's quilting party, I was seeing Nel-ly home."

Suddenly Jane laid her hand on Paul's to attract his attention. "Look!

Look at this, Paul," she said in a low voice, putting the paper on his knee, and pointing to a paragraph.

He glanced down and read,

"C--. June 1st. The Academy of Arts announces that it will offer a series of prizes for painting and sculpture, to be competed for according to the following rules." Then followed a list of regulations, after which the notice went on to say that, "All work must be submitted on or before September 1st. Three prizes will be awarded in each department. No work will be considered unless etc., etc."

"Well, what of it?" said Paul, shortly.

"Can't you-why don't you-"

"You know I can't. Look at that kid down there, will you-"

"Paul, why not?"

"Because I can't, I tell you," he repeated, irritably.

"But why don't you try," persisted Jane, undaunted. "If you don't win anything, there's no harm done, and if you _should_, Paul-if you _should_-"

"When and where would I be able to do any work, will you tell me?" He spoke almost angrily, but he took the paper from her hand and looked at it again.

"What are you two whispering about?" inquired Carl. He still felt a twinge of jealousy when he saw Jane and Paul talking without taking him into their confidence.

"Nothing," said Paul. "Just something Jane saw in the paper." And picking up Minie's rubber ball he began to bounce and catch it monotonously.

"What is it?"

With a shrug of his shoulders, Paul handed the paper over to Carl, pointing out the paragraph. Carl gave it to Mr. Lambert.

"Read it, father." So Mr. Lambert put on his spectacles, while Jane looked uneasily at Paul.

Mr. Lambert read it aloud, and then without making any comment, laid the paper aside. He looked displeased.

"Why don't you compete, Paul?" said Carl suddenly. "There'd be no harm in trying."

Then Aunt Gertrude, glancing timidly at her husband, found courage to put in a word.

There was a silence, during which everyone waited for Mr. Lambert to say something; but no remark from him was forthcoming. That he was annoyed could be seen plainly, but because the suggestion had come from Carl he maintained his silence.

"Do you think you'd stand any chance of winning, Paul?" Carl asked secure in his peculiar privileges of free speech.

"I don't know. How should I?"

Jane was simply on tenter-hooks. If only Carl would take up the case!

"Would you like to try it?"

"Yes. I would."

"Well, why don't you? You could find some place-"

"That isn't the point," interrupted Paul, looking directly at his uncle, "it's up to you, Uncle Peter. You told me that I wasn't to touch a paint-brush while I was in your house. And I haven't. But I-"

"Well, you'll let him, won't you, father? He might as well have a go at it."

"My boy, I think it is hardly-"

"But it's only a little matter, father. I'd like to see how he'd make out. We'd feel pretty fine if he _should_ win anything, and if he doesn't, there's nothing lost."

Mr. Lambert bit his lip. But at that time he could no more have refused his son's slightest wish than he could have struck him.

"Well, well-go ahead if you want, Paul. I am sure I wish you every success." It was stiffly and unwillingly said, but it was a victory nonetheless, and Paul did not know whether to be more amazed at his uncle's concession or at Carl's intercession. Jane, her face beaming with delight, started to clap her hands, and then realizing that any evidences of unseemly joy might have unpleasant results, quickly folded them in her lap.

And so it came about, through the play of circ.u.mstances, that the one member of the Lambert family who had been so bitterly inimical to Paul for eight months a.s.sumed the role of benefactor, and gallantly squared his debt by a few right words spoken at exactly the right moment.

CHAPTER XII-JEFF ROBERTS

"Do you think I'll be able to put it across?" Paul asked, despondently, stepping back from the half finished picture and eyeing it with his head on one side and a frown on his brow.

Jane, perched on an old barrel, her chin on her fists, studied the embryo masterpiece with a grave, judicial air.

"I think it is going to be _very_ good," she observed at length.

"Do you, honestly?" Paul knew of course that Jane was about as capable of judging as Anna, but he had reached the point where encouragement from any source was sweet. "Lord, I hope I get it done in time."

"You will," said Jane. Paul grinned at her.

"You're about the most optimistic character I ever knew. I suppose you think I'm certain to win a first prize."

"Don't _you_ think so?"

"No, my child. I don't think there's a chance in the world."

"Oh, Paul! But you'll win something."

"No, my jovial Jane, I won't. But that's neither here nor there. Whew!