"You are clever, arn't you?" said Gallagher, bitingly.

"That's living with you," retorted the H.M.J., who was not easily put down.

"Then you see that you treat Stirling as if he was somebody. He's getting to be a power in the ward, and if you want to remain Mrs.

Justice Gallagher and spend eight thousand--and pickings--a year, you see that you keep him friendly."

"Oh, I'll be friendly, but he's awful dull."

"Oh, no, mamma," said Monica. "He really isn't. He's read a great many more French books than I have."

Peter lunched with the wholesale provision-dealer as planned. The lunch hour proving insufficient for the discussion, a family dinner, a few days later, served to continue it. The dealer's family were not very enthusiastic about Peter.

"He knows nothing but grub talk," grumbled the heir apparent, who from the proud alt.i.tude of a broker's office, had come to scorn the family trade.

"He doesn't know any fashionable people," said one of the girls, who having unfulfilled ambitions concerning that cla.s.s, was doubly interested and influenced by its standards and idols.

"He certainly is not brilliant," remarked the mother.

"Humph," growled the pater-familias, "that's the way all you women go on. Brilliant! Fashionable! I don't wonder marriage is a failure when I see what you like in men. That Stirling is worth all your dancing men, but just because he holds his tongue when he hasn't a sensible thing to say, you think he's no good."

"Still he is 'a n.o.body.'"

"He's the fellow who made that big speech in the stump-tail milk case."

"Not that man?"

"Exactly. But of course he isn't 'brilliant.'"

"I never should have dreamed it."

"Still," said the heir, "he keeps his eloquence for cows, and not for dinners."

"He talked very well at Dr. Purple's," said the mamma, whose opinion of Peter had undergone a change.

"And he was invited to call by Mrs. Dupont and Mrs. Sizer, which is more than you've ever been," said Avery senior to Avery junior.

"That's because of the prog," growled the son, seeing his opportunity to square accounts quickly.

Coming out of church the next Sunday, Peter was laid hold of by the Bohlmanns and carried off to a mid-day dinner, at which were a lot of pleasant Germans, who made it very jolly with their kindly humor. He did not contribute much to the laughter, but every one seemed to think him an addition to the big table.

Thus it came to pa.s.s that late in January Peter dedicated a week of evenings to "Society," and nightly donning his dress suit, called dutifully on Mrs. Dupont, Mrs. Sizer, Mrs. Purple, Mrs. Avery, Mrs.

Costell, Mrs. Gallagher and Mrs. Bohlmann. Peter was becoming very frivolous.

CHAPTER XXVI.

AN EVENING CALL.

But Peter's social gadding did not end with these bread-and-b.u.t.ter calls. One afternoon in March, he went into the shop of a famous picture-dealer, to look over an exhibition then advertised, and had nearly finished his patient examination of each picture, which always involved quite as much mental gymnastics as aesthetic pleasure to Peter, when he heard a pleasant:

"How do you do, Mr. Stirling?"

Turning, he found Miss De Voe and a well-dressed man at his elbow.

Peter's face lighted up in a way which made the lady say to herself: "I wonder why he wouldn't buy another ticket?" Aloud she said, "I want you to know another of my cousins. Mr. Ogden, Mr. Stirling."

"Charmed," said Mr. Ogden genially. Any expression which Peter had thought of using seemed so absolutely lame, beside this pa.s.sive participle, that he merely bowed.

"I did not know you cared for pictures," said Miss De Voe.

"I see most of the public exhibitions," Peter told her. "I try to like them."

Miss De Voe looked puzzled.

"Don't," said Mr. Ogden. "I tried once, when I first began. But it's much easier to notice what women say, and answer 'yes' and 'no' at the right points."

Peter looked puzzled.

"Nonsense, Lispenard," said Miss De Voe. "He's really one of the best connoisseurs I know, Mr. Stirling."

"There," said Lispenard. "You see. Only agree with people, and they think you know everything."

"I suppose you have seen the pictures, and so won't care to go round with us?" inquired Miss De Voe.

"I've looked at them, but I should like to go over again with you," said Peter. Then he added, "if I shan't be in the way."

"Not a bit," said Lispenard heartily. "My cousin always wants a listener. It will be a charity to her tongue and my ears." Miss De Voe merely gave him a very pleasant smile. "I wonder why he wouldn't buy a ticket?" she thought.

Peter was rather astonished at the way they looked at the pictures. They would pa.s.s by a dozen without giving them a second glance, and then stop at one, and chat about it for ten minutes. He found that Miss De Voe had not exaggerated her cousin's art knowledge. He talked familiarly and brilliantly, though making constant fun of his own opinions, and often jeering at the faults of the picture. Miss De Voe also talked well, so Peter really did supply the ears for the party. He was very much pleased when they both praised a certain picture.

"I liked that," he told them, making the first remark (not a question) which he had yet made. "It seemed to me the best here."

"Unquestionably," said Lispenard. "There is poetry and feeling in it."

Miss De Voe said: "That is not the one I should have thought of your liking."

"That's womanly," said Lispenard, "they are always deciding what a man should like."

"No," denied Miss De Voe. "But I should think with your liking for children, that you would have preferred that piece of Brown's, rather than this sad, desolate sand-dune."

"I cannot say why I like it, except, that I feel as if it had something to do with my own mood at times."

"Are you very lonely?" asked Miss De Voe, in a voice too low for Lispenard to hear.

"Sometimes," said Peter, simply.