Much to their surprise, the children discovered that not only did Aunt Lois find Mr. Sweeney tolerable now, she even welcomed him as a regular caller. She instructed them not to mention this to their father, who would be sure to put an evil meaning to it, and as further safeguard she sent them upstairs during his calls. If they escaped banishment by reading quietly in the corner, they found the conversation fully as baffling as Mrs. Carmel’s. Mr. Sweeney always stood for a moment in the doorway, head bared and bowed as if scarcely daring to enter the sacred presence of Pure Womanhood. Receiving Aunt Lois’s hand, he bowed low over it and entered with grave dignity. He placed his hat, cane, and gloves on the hall table; then, with another bow, presented Aunt Lois with a large, beribboned box of De Klyn’s Bon Bons, or for variety Chandler & Rudd Salted Almonds. These rites observed and properly applauded by Aunt Lois, he then drew up a straight chair to Aunt Lois, who implored him to take the big chair. Her entreaties, based as much on the demands of his bulk as on politeness, finally prevailed over his humble wishes, and with a “May I smoke?” he relaxed comfortably. Aunt Lois, who could never be idle, crocheted or mended, and in low tones vibrant with conspiracy the two murmured such phrases as “six percent,” “common,” “two hundred shares preferred,” “stockholders’ meeting,” “dividends.” The quality of their voices was so charged with excitement and secret pleasure that it was hard to believe money, and not romance, was its cause. Aunt Lois’s fair head bent breathlessly toward Mr. Sweeney’s flushed heavy-jowled face, and when he left she sat smiling abstractedly at her work as if words of love instead of mere financial profit still lingered on the air. Whenever Marcia reminded her of the old jokes between Mama and her about Mr. Sweeney’s pompous airs, Aunt Lois reddened and said sharply, it took a long time to appreciate some people.

“Don’t you tell your father I said so,” she added.

Every Saturday Aunt Lois went to Lesterville on business, and these were the days Papa elected to call on his children if he was in town. He stayed at the Elks’ instead of the hotel because, he said, things were getting too thick at the hotel.

One time Lena boldly asked him if he was intending to pay board at Aunt Lois’s as she had insisted. A look of hurt surprise came over his face as he regarded his daughter reproachfully. Then he took out his checkbook and wrote out a check for twenty dollars. Later, Aunt Lois said the check was no good, which wounded Papa even more.

“Looks like a man can never suit some parties no matter how hard he tries,” he said, wistfully, so that even Lena felt ashamed for her forwardness. He brought them red tam-o’-shanters, and fur-topped boots for Florrie, and a sample picture book of famous mausoleums erected by his company in all parts of the earth. He talked of buying a mausoleum for Daisy, too, when Lena said Aunt Lois thought Mama should have a gravestone. He brought them a songbook from Bonnie, advising them not to tell their aunt from where it came, and taught them “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.” They were confused and sorry when he left, for he criticized Aunt Lois, and they were already mixed up in their feelings by Aunt Lois’s steady attacks on him. Florrie remained steadfast, vowing complete adoration of Papa, unmarred by her devotion to Aunt Lois, but Lena swayed from one to the other.