Uncle Bob was exasperated. He was talking to Phœbe’s father. Phœbe could
hear him, from where she lay on the sofa in Grandma’s bedroom.
“A person would think you’re first-cousin to a mule!” cried Uncle Bob.
“What makes you so stubborn, Jim? Don’t you _see_ what you ought to
do!—Oh, my goodness, the thing is all so simple!”
Phœbe could hear someone walking, to and fro, to and fro, across Uncle
Bob’s room. Then, “Well, you see, old man, the trouble is there isn’t
anybody,”—and Phœbe’s father laughed. (What were they talking about?)
“You can’t think of anybody?” scolded Uncle Bob. “Well, I can.”
“Yes?”
“I’ve got it all fixed up.”
The footsteps halted. Again Phœbe’s father laughed. “You’re a wonder!”
he cried. “Well, your Honor, who is it?”
“You know.”
There was silence for a moment. Phœbe’s father answered then, but he
spoke very gravely. “No, no,” he said. “I know who you mean. And that
would never do.”
“What’s the matter with her?” Uncle Bob was impatient.
“Nothing,”—calmly. Phœbe heard the scratch of a match.
“You bet your life there’s nothing the matter with her!” (Who was
“her”?)
“What makes you think she’d fall in with your plans, old brother?”
“First hand information. She told me that she cared.”
Phœbe’s father laughed again, but in a curious way. “I don’t believe
it,” he said.
“It’s true. I made her confess.” (Confess! “Are they talking about me?”
Phœbe asked herself.)
“Bob!—But that wasn’t fair! not fair to her!”
“I know,” agreed Uncle Bob, contritely. “But I did it for the sake of
the child.—Oh, Jim, before you go——”
“Before I go,” returned Phœbe’s father, quietly, “I won’t do something
unworthy.”
“Unworthy? What do you mean?”
“Along with the rest, Bob, I happen to know that _you_ care.”
“_I?_—Say!” Now Uncle Bob laughed. “Who on earth’s been telling you fish
stories?”
“Bob, you’re a wise old bird. But you don’t fool me.”
“Jim, you’ve been listening to one of Phœbe’s moving-picture yarns!”
(Phœbe sat up. They _did_ mean her!)
“Judge,” said Phœbe’s father, “I can beat you at golf.”
It was then that, suddenly, Uncle Bob seemed completely to change. He
grew more earnest, his voice rose. “Oh, listen, Jim!” he begged. “I’ve
taken her around a little——”
“No, Bob,—no! no! no!”
Phœbe leaned back, completely at a loss to understand any of it. Fish
stories? Moving-pictures? Golf? And that “her” again!
“Yes, I tell you!” insisted Uncle Bob. “You ought to have done this
fifteen years ago.”
“Is that so!” retorted Phœbe’s father, sarcastically. “Well, fifteen
years ago I wouldn’t step in your way.”
“I!” Uncle Bob laughed, but not pleasantly. “Old, and fat, and bald.”
“I will not do it,” said Phœbe’s father.
“And I won’t be a dog in the manger!” Uncle Bob struck a hard surface
with his fist.
“Bob, _please_ drop it.”
“You’re a nice father!” taunted Uncle Bob. “You’re a peach! Letting me
or anyone else come before Phœbe.” (“It _is_ about me,” declared Phœbe.
“I’m ‘her,’ after all.”) “My life’s half over, Jim: Hers is just
beginning.”
“You’re a blessed old brother,”—and Phœbe could tell that her father
felt deeply as he spoke, for his voice shook. “But listen to me, Bob:
When we went tramping, as boys, if I got tired you always dragged me
along by the hand. And how you always shared everything with me! Well,
you’re my old side partner, and I won’t do this thing—I won’t!”
“Jim, I’m a poor pill if I can’t practice what I’m always preaching from
the Bench: The child comes first.”
“Listen!” insisted Phœbe’s father, gently. “I had my chance at
happiness, Bob, and I made a mess of it. But—I’ve got Phœbe, and you——”
“Forget me! I’m out of it. And why should you cheat yourself? And her?”
“Sh!”
Phœbe’s father was standing in the door of Grandma’s room, staring down
at the figure on the sofa. “Have you been here all the time?” he asked.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Mm. Haven’t been asleep, I suppose?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, do you think you can stand some very good news?” He came to her.
“Oh,—not back!—not New York!—_oh!_” Phœbe sprang up, holding out both
arms. “When?”
He drew her to him. “Tomorrow. So get all the rest that you can today,
little girl. Tomorrow at this time we’ll be whirling along.”
Uncle Bob was watching them. “You mean it?” he asked Phœbe’s father.
“You’re going to leave? And not say a word?—Oh, it’s all wrong, Jim!
It’s all wrong!”