“Grandpa,” he said facetiously.  “Do I look as old as that?  Can’t I be something better than a grandpa?”

“Well, only one papa’s the style,” said Julia doubtfully.  “And you are too big to be a baby, and—­”

“Can’t I be your uncle?” Then, glancing at Connie with a sudden realization of the only possible way the uncle-ship could be accomplished, he blushed.

“Yes, an uncle is better,” said Connie imperturbably.  “You must remember, Julia dear, that men are very, very sensitive about their ages, and you must always give them credit for youth.”

“I see,” said Julia.  And Prince wondered how old Connie thought he was, his hair was a little thin, not from age—­always had been that way—­and he was as brown as a Zulu, but it was only sunburn.  He’d figure out a way of letting her know he was only thirty-two before the evening was over.

“Are you going over to the street to-night?” he asked of David, but not caring half a cent what David did.

“I am afraid I can’t.  I am not very good on my feet any more.  I am sorry, the girls would enjoy it.”

“Carol and I might go alone,” suggested Connie bravely.  “Every one does out here.  We wouldn’t mind it.”

“I will not go to a street carnival and leave David,” protested Carol.

“It would be rather interesting.”  Connie looked tentatively from the window.

Prince swallowed in anguish.  She ought to go, he told them; she really needs to go.  The evenings are so much fuller of literary material than day-times.  And the dancing—­

“I do not dance,” said Connie.  “My father is a minister.”

“You do not dance!  Why, that’s funny.  I don’t either.  That is, not exactly,—­ Oh, once in a while just to fill in.”  Then the latter part of her remark reached his inner consciousness.  “A minister.  By George!”

“My husband is one, too,” said Carol.

Prince looked helplessly about him.  Then he said faintly, “I—­I am not.  But my father wanted me to be a preacher.  He sent me to Princeton, and I stuck it out nearly ten weeks.  That is why they call me Prince, short for Princeton.  I am the only real college man on the range, they say.”

“The street fair must be interesting,” Connie went back to the main idea.

“Yes indeed, the crowds, the side-shows—­I mean the exhibits, and the lotteries, and—­I am sure you never saw so much literary material crowded into two blocks in your life.”

“Oh, well, I don’t mind.  Maybe some other night we can go.”  Connie was sweetly resigned.

“I should be very glad,—­if you don’t mind,—­I haven’t anything else to do,—­and I can take good care of you.”

“Oh, that is just lovely.  And maybe you will give me some more stories.  Isn’t that fine, David?  It is so kind of you, Mr. Ingram.  I am sure I shall find lots of material.”

David kicked Carol warningly beneath the table.  “You must go too, Carol.  You have never seen such a thing, and it will do you good.  I am not the selfish brute you try to make me.  You girls go along with Mr. Ingram and I will put Julia to bed and wait for you on the porch.”