There were more secrets to be kept, later on, when who should be found lolling on the parlor sofa one day but Mr. Hartwell, Papa’s friend. Mr. Hartwell gave them each a quarter and told them that under no circumstances were they to tell Papa of this visit, while Aunt Lois sternly admonished them never to speak of it to Mr. Sweeney. Mr. Hartwell’s visits, which became regular, and took place usually while they were at school, were quite different from Mr. Sweeney’s. Aunt Lois laughed a lot at everything Mr. Hartwell said, and he followed her around when she cooked, patting her shoulder and tweaking her curly yellow hair. He, too, brought candy. He saved pictures of Lillian Russell to show how much she looked like her, and made her blush by calling her his “Evening Star.” He was very much at home around the place, taking naps in the downstairs bedroom when he came in from the train, and helping himself in the icebox. Aunt Lois was always cross after his visits, scolding the children for eating the cake she was saving for him, and complaining of how tied down she was, just at the age when she could have a good time. There was something very secret about Mr. Hartwell’s visits, and he frequently used the back door because it was handier, he said. Once some woman telephoned there for him, and Aunt Lois answered that she knew no such person as Hartwell. None of the children liked Aunt Lois’s change of manner under Mr. Hartwell’s influence. Usually arrogant and dignified, she giggled and flirted and blushed in a silly way, not becoming an elderly woman. Lena said she had a good notion to tell Papa on her, but when she did she was taken aback by Papa’s roar of delight.

“The old son-of-a-gun!” he kept chuckling. “Wait till I get hold of him! By George, I’ll tell him I heard it from Mabel. That’ll serve him right for being so foxy!”

His opportunity did not take this form, but gave him even more satisfaction. Aunt Lois was home when he called one day, “full as a tick,” as she described him later to Mr. Sweeney. She promptly attacked him for his snappy new topcoat when the girls needed clothes; she wanted to know if he seriously intended to pay for Lena’s piano lessons as Daisy had always wished; she also wanted to know what about all this talk about Bonnie Purdy chasing all over the country to meet him, making herself the talk of the town, staying in the same hotels in Cleveland and Toledo with him; what kind of father was he, after a wonderful wife like Daisy, chasing a chippy like Bonnie Purdy, so that his little girls would grow up with a bad name?

Papa got white at this, unable to speak for a moment. When he did his voice trembled.

“I can’t help where Bonnie Purdy goes,” he said. “At least I’m not taking her away from somebody. You can’t talk, Lois, while you’re fooling around with Ed Hartwell. You know he’s got Mabel. You mind your own reputation. I’ll look after mine. People are talking about you more than they are about me.”