held the gaze of more than one woman far above him
in the social scale. Of such glances and dim
maternal promptings he was quite unconscious, though
Genevieve was quick to see and understand; and she
knew each time the pang of a fierce joy in that he
was hers and that she held him in the hollow of her
hand. He did see, however, and rather resented,
the men’s glances drawn by her. These,
too, she saw and understood as he did not dream of
understanding.
Genevieve slipped on a pair of Joe’s shoes,
light-soled and dapper, and laughed with Lottie, who
stooped to turn up the trousers for her. Lottie
was his sister, and in the secret. To her was
due the inveigling of his mother into making a neighborhood
call so that they could have the house to themselves.
They went down into the kitchen where Joe was waiting.
His face brightened as he came to meet her, love shining
frankly forth.
“Now get up those skirts, Lottie,” he
commanded. “Haven’t any time to
waste. There, that’ll do. You see,
you only want the bottoms of the pants to show.
The coat will cover the rest. Now let’s
see how it’ll fit.
“Borrowed it from Chris; he’s a dead sporty
sport—little, but oh, my!” he went
on, helping Genevieve into an overcoat which fell to
her heels and which fitted her as a tailor-made overcoat
should fit the man for whom it is made.
Joe put a cap on her head and turned up the collar,
which was generous to exaggeration, meeting the cap
and completely hiding her hair. When he buttoned
the collar in front, its points served to cover the
cheeks, chin and mouth were buried in its depths,
and a close scrutiny revealed only shadowy eyes and
a little less shadowy nose. She walked across
the room, the bottom of the trousers just showing
as the bang of the coat was disturbed by movement.
“A sport with a cold and afraid of catching
more, all right all right,” the boy laughed,
proudly surveying his handiwork. “How much
money you got? I’m layin’ ten to
six. Will you take the short end?”
“Who’s short?” she asked.
“Ponta, of course,” Lottie blurted out
her hurt, as though there could be any question of
it even for an instant.
“Of course,” Genevieve said sweetly, “only
I don’t know much about such things.”
This time Lottie kept her lips together, but the new
hurt showed on her face. Joe looked at his watch
and said it was time to go. His sister’s
arms went about his neck, and she kissed him soundly
on the lips. She kissed Genevieve, too, and
saw them to the gate, one arm of her brother about
her waist.
“What does ten to six mean?” Genevieve
asked, the while their footfalls rang out on the frosty
air.
“That I’m the long end, the favorite,”
he answered. “That a man bets ten dollars
at the ring side that I win against six dollars another
man is betting that I lose.”
