Father and Mother, and Susan and me. "The doctors say that they'll have to abandon their present treatment if I am not around to help and encourage Elsie a little. So I am going to take her back with me. We'd like you four to come to our wedding, and Mr. and Mrs. DeForrest—that's all—in Elsie's room to-morrow morning. We're going to live in an apartment down there in New York, where I can go home at noon, and get back by six from the office. It may strike you, Father, as rather preposterous for me to undertake such an expense just now; but I've reckoned it out, and I am sure I can swing it."
"You know best," grunted Father.
We finished our meal in subdued conversation on other topics.
There has never been the least bit of sympathy between Burr and Father; I've always lamented it. But after dinner, while I sat reading and while Burr was finishing a cigar in the library, Father shuffled in uneasily. He came up to Burr. "I'll stand the expense of the rent of that apartment," he mumbled.
Burr stood up and gave Father his hand. "Thanks, Father," he said simply. "That'll help a lot."
Whenever I think of the first three or four years of Burr's married life, the same surging
