“I think not,” said Eunice quietly, and dismissing Ferdinand with a nod, she began serenely to make the tea.

“Don’t be silly, Aunt Abby,” she said; “you can’t go that way.  It would be all right to go with Ferdinand, of course, but what could you do when you, reached Newark?  Race about on foot, following up this clown, or whoever is performing?”

“We could take a taxicab—­”

“You might get one and you might not.  Now, you will wait till San comes home, and see if he’ll let you have the big car.”

“Will you go then, Eunice?”

“No; of course not.  I don’t go to such fool shows!  There’s the door!  Sanford’s coming.”

A step was heard in the hall, a cheery voice spoke to Ferdinand as he took his master’s coat and hat and then a big man entered the living-room.

“Hello, girls,” he said, gaily; “how’s things?”

He kissed Eunice, shook Aunt Abby’s hand and dropped into an easy chair.

“Things are whizzing,” he said, as he took the cup Eunice poured for him.  “I’ve just come from the Club, and our outlook is rosy-posy.  Old Hendricks is going to get, badly left.”

“It’s all safe for you, then, is it?” and Eunice smiled radiantly at her husband.

“Right as rain!  The prize-fights did it!  They upset old Hendrick’s apple-cart and spilled his beans.  Lots of them object to the fights because of the expense—­fighters are a high-priced bunch—­but I’m down on them because I think it bad form—­”

“I should say so!” put in Eunice, emphatically.

“Bad form for an Athletic Club of gentlemen to have brutal exhibitions for their entertainment.”

“And what about the Motion-Picture Theatre?”

“The same there!  Frightful expense,—­and also rotten taste!  No, the Metropolitan Athletic Club can’t stoop to such entertainments.  If it were a worth-while little playhouse, now, and if they had a high class of performances, that would be another story.  Hey, Aunt Abby?  What do you think?”

“I don’t know, Sanford, you know I’m ignorant on such matters.  But I want to ask you something.  Have you read the paper to-day?”

“Why, yes, being a normal American citizen, I did run through the Battle-Ax of Freedom.  Why?”

“Did you read about Hanlon—­the great Hanlon?”

“Musician, statesman or criminal?  I can’t seem to place a really great Hanlon.  By the way, Eunice, if Hendricks blows in, ask him to stay to dinner, will you?  I want to talk to him, but I don’t want to seem unduly anxious for his company.”

“Very well,” and Eunice smiled; “if I can persuade him, I will.”

“If you can!” exclaimed Miss Abby, her sarcasm entirely unveiled.  “Alvord Hendricks would walk the plank if you invited him to do so!”

“Who wouldn’t?” laughed Embury.  “I have the same confidence in my wife’s powers of persuasion that you seem to have, Aunt Abby; and though I may impose on her, I do want her to use them upon me deadly r-rival!”