" Mr. Lucy trudged upstairs behind 258 him and he put his hand on her shoulder and said, “I’m sorry about this evening. ” He closed the door of 109 in her face. The boy had all kinds of opportunity; but it's the old story of father making it too easy. She saw Lucy darkening her doorstep and stood from the recliner. What'll we call him—Rollo?"—ironically. ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. I’m damaged goods. The City worried him a good deal, and what energy he had left over he spent partly in golf, a game he treated very seriously, and partly in the practices of microscopic petrography. “How are you?” He asked, realizing she was unnerved by the very sound of his voice.
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