“Well?” he said, thrusting aside the portiere with an impetuous movement.

He said it gruffly, but he was half sorry for it the next instant when he saw a slender little girl regarding him with wistful eyes across the big reading-table heaped with books.  She was curled up, with pencil and pad, in an easy-chair of such generous dimensions that it made her seem more delicate and fragile than she really was.

“What is it, Sis?” he asked more gently, crossing over to her side.

She took his hand in hers and pressed it against her cheek, and as he stood beside her came closer to him with a nestling movement.

“What is the matter, Joe dear?” she asked softly.  “Won’t you tell me?”

He remained silent.  It struck him as ridiculous to confess his troubles to a little sister, even if her reports were higher than his.  And the little sister struck him as ridiculous to demand his troubles of him.  “What a soft cheek she has!” he thought as she pressed her face gently against his hand.  If he could but tear himself away—­it was all so foolish!  Only he might hurt her feelings, and, in his experience, girls’ feelings were very easily hurt.

She opened his fingers and kissed the palm of his hand.  It was like a rose-leaf falling; it was also her way of asking her question over again.

“Nothing ’s the matter,” he said decisively.  And then, quite inconsistently, he blurted out, “Father!”

His worry was now in her eyes.  “But father is so good and kind, Joe,” she began.  “Why don’t you try to please him?  He does n’t ask much of you, and it ’s all for your own good.  It ’s not as though you were a fool, like some boys.  If you would only study a little bit—­”

“That ’s it!  Lecturing!” he exploded, tearing his hand roughly away.  “Even you are beginning to lecture me now.  I suppose the cook and the stable-boy will be at it next.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked forward into a melancholy and desolate future filled with interminable lectures and lecturers innumerable.

“Was that what you wanted me for?” he demanded, turning to go.

She caught at his hand again.  “No, it wasn’t; only you looked so worried that I thought—­I—­” Her voice broke, and she began again freshly.  “What I wanted to tell you was that we’re planning a trip across the bay to Oakland, next Saturday, for a tramp in the hills.”

“Who ’s going?”

“Myrtle Hayes—­”

“What!  That little softy?” he interrupted.

“I don’t think she is a softy,” Bessie answered with spirit.  “She ’s one of the sweetest girls I know.”

“Which is n’t saying much, considering the girls you know.  But go on.  Who are the others?”

“Pearl Sayther, and her sister Alice, and Jessie Hilborn, and Sadie French, and Edna Crothers.  That ’s all the girls.”

Joe sniffed disdainfully.  “Who are the fellows, then?”