“Say!” exclaimed Francisco suddenly, “you’re such a Jim Dandy to manage love affairs!  Why don’t you get married yourself?”

It was Robert’s turn to flush.  “I’m quite willing,” he said shortly.

“Won’t she have you?” asked his cousin sympathetically.

“’Tisn’t that ... it’s her mother.  Maizie won’t leave her ... and she won’t bring her into our home.  Mrs. Carter’s peculiar ... and Maizie says we’re young.  Young enough to be unselfish.”

“She’s a fine girl,” returned Francisco.  “Well, good bye.”  He held out a cordial hand.

“I—­I’ll think over what you said.”

“Good luck, then,” Robert answered as they gripped.

* * * * *

Adrian Stanley was closing up his affairs.  As a contractor he had prospered; his reclaimed city lots had realized their purchase price a hundred fold and his judiciously conservative investments yielded golden fruit.  Adrian was not a plunger.  But in thirty years he had accumulated something of a fortune....  And now they were to travel, he and Inez, for a year or so.

He had provided, too, for Francisco.  The latter, though he did not know it, would have $20,000 to his credit in the Bank of California.  Adrian planned to hand his son the bank deposit book across the gang plank as the ship cast off.  They were going first to the Sandwich Islands.  Then on to China, India, the South Seas.  Each evening, sometimes until midnight, they perused the illustrated travel-folders, describing routes, hotels, trains, steamships.

“You’re like a couple of children,” smiled Francisco on the evening before their departure.  He was writing a novel, in addition to the other work for Carmony and Pixley.  Sometimes it was hard work amid this unusual prattle by his usually sedate and silent parents.  He tried to imagine the house without them; his life, without their familiar and cherished companionship....  It would be lonely.  Probably he would rent the place, when his novel was finished ... take lodgings down town.

CHAPTER LXX

ROBERT AND MAIZIE

Francisco saw his parents to the steamer in a carriage packed with luggage—­shiny new bags and grips which, he reflected, would one day return much buffeted and covered with foreign labels.  He had seen such bags in local households.  The owners were very proud of them.  Shakenly he patted his mother’s arm and told her how young she was looking, whereat, for some reason, she cried.  Adrian coughed and turned to look out of the window.  None of the trio spoke till they reached the dock.

There Mrs. Stanley gave him many directions looking to his health and safety.  And his father puffed ferociously at a cigar.  They had expected Jeanne to bid them good-bye, but she no doubt was delayed, as one so often was in newspaper work.