“Father” I said, rising and on the point of tears.  “How can you!  To taunt me with what is not my own fault, but partly heredatary and partly carelessness.  For if you had pinched it in infansy it would have been a good noze, and not a pug.  And——­”

“Good gracious!” he exclaimed.  “Why, Bab, I never meant to insult your noze.  As a matter of fact, it’s a good noze.  It’s exactly the sort of noze you ought to have.  Why, what in the world would you do with a Roman noze?”

I have not been feeling very well, dear Dairy, and so I sudenly began to weap.

“Why, chicken!” said my father.  And made me sit down on his knee.  “Don’t tell me that my bit of sunshine is behind a cloud!”

“Behind a noze,” I said, feebly.

So he said he liked my noze, even although somwhat swolen, and he kissed it, and told me I was a little fool, and at last I saw he was about ready to be tackeled.  So I observed: 

“Father, will you do me a faver?”

“Sure,” he said.  “How much do you need?  Busness is pretty good now, and I’ve about landed the new order for shells for the English War Department.  I—­supose we make it fifty!  Although, we’d better keep it a Secret between the to of us.”

I drew myself up, although tempted.  But what was fifty dollars to doing somthing for Adrian?  A mere bagatelle.

“Father,” I said, “do you know Miss Everett, my English teacher?”

He remembered the name.

“Would you be willing to do her a great favor?” I demanded intencely.

“What sort of a favor?”

“Her couzin has written a play.  She is very fond of her couzin, and anxious to have him suceed.  And it is a lovely play.”

He held me off and stared at me.

“So that is what you were doing in that box alone!” he exclaimed.  “You incomprehensable child!  Why didn’t you tell your mother?”

“Mother does not always understand,” I said, in a low voice.  “I thought, by buying a Box, I would do my part to help Miss Everett’s couzin’s play suceed.  And as a result I was draged home, and shamefully treated in the most mortafying maner.  But I am acustomed to brutalaty.”

“Oh, come now,” he said.  “I wouldn’t go as far as that, chicken.  Well, I won’t finanse the play, but short of that I’ll do what I can.”

However he was not so agreable when I told him Carter Brooks’ plan.  He delivered a firm no.

“Although,” he said, “sombody ought to do it, and show the falasy of the Play.  In the first place, the world doesn’t owe the fellow a living, unless he will hustel around and make it.  In the second place an employer has a right to turn away a man he doesn’t want.  No one can force Capitle to employ Labor.”

“Well,” I said, “as long as Labor talks and makes a lot of noise, and Capitle is to dignafied to say anything, most people are going to side with Labor.”

He gazed at me.