Now,
in an instant, all his sense of injured dignity fell away from him, and
the watchers under the awnings wondered at the sudden kindliness in his
face, as he grasped Mac's pudgy fist.
"Why, Mac, who ever dreamed of seeing you here, old man!"
"I live here now," Mac said gravely; "me and my mamma and everybody,
only papa."
"I thought you lived in Helena."
"Not now. We like it better here; it's so funny to sit in ve sand and
build pies. Can you build pies?"
"Yes, and forts."
Mac fell to prancing delightedly, quite regardless of the havoc his small
shoes were creating among the bare toes of his companion.
"Oh, can you? Truly, no joking? Make me one now."
"Mac!" The call came from the nearest awning.
"Vat's mamma," Mac said. "She wants us. Come." And he tugged at Gifford
Barrett's hand.
"Not just now, old man."
"Come. Aunt Teddy's vere, and all ve rest. Come."
"Mac!" This time, the voice was more decided.
"Yes, mamma; but he won't come."
"Mac, come here at once."
There was a brief skirmish; then as usual, Mac conquered, and Gifford
Barrett was led, an unwilling victim, to the awning where sat Mac's
mother, beyond her a serried rank of Mac's relatives and, beyond them
all, a tall girl in a black suit who watched him with dancing eyes.
The situation was not an easy one. It was Theodora who relieved it.
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