Captain Elisha excused himself soon after and went
to his room, leaving the Dunns to chat with Caroline for an hour or
more. Malcolm joked and was languid and cynical. His mother asked a few
carefully guarded questions.
"Quite a clever person, this young author friend of yours seems to be,
Caroline," she observed. "Almost brilliant, really."
"He isn't a friend of mine, exactly," replied the girl. "He and Captain
Warren are friendly, and father used to know and like him, as I have
told you. The novel is great fun, though! The people in it are coming to
seem almost real to me."
"I daresay! I was a great reader myself once, before my health--my
heart, you know--began to trouble me. The doctors now forbid my reading
anything the least bit exciting. Has this--er--Mr. Pearson means?"
"I know very little of him, personally, but I think not. He used to be
connected with the Planet, and wrote things about Wall Street. That was
how father came to know him."
"Live in an attic, does he?" inquired Malcolm. "That's what all authors
do, isn't it? Put up in attics and sleep on pallets--whatever they
are--and eat crusts, don't they? Jolly life--if you like it! I prefer
bucking wheat corners, myself."
Mrs. Dunn laughed, and Caroline joined her, though not as heartily.
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