Elizabeth's promised explanation to the father of the culprits above
stairs led to a spirited discussion between the husband and wife, after
Miss Tripp had retired to her apartment.
"Poor little kids," Sam Brewster said whimsically. "I believe I'm glad
I'm not your child, Betty,--I mean, of course, that I'm glad I'm your
husband," he amended quickly, as her unsmiling eyes reproached him.
"Don't you think you were a little hard on them, though?"
"Hard on them?" she echoed indignantly. "You're much more severe with
the children than I am, Sam,--when you're at home. You know you are."
He smoked thoughtfully for a minute or two before replying. "Look here,
Betty," he said at last, "you're right in a way. I'm not half so patient
as you are, I'll admit. But I wonder if we don't all miss the mark when
it comes to disciplining children?--Wait--just a minute before you
answer. I've been thinking a whole lot about this business of home rule
since we--er--discussed it the other day, and I've come to the
conclusion that the only thing to do is to let universal law take its
course with them. They are human beings, my dear, and they've got to
come up against the law in its broader sense sooner or later. Let 'em
begin right now."