Mr. Farrell's a neighbor, and Mr. Halket's the new boarder, and going to work next week at the Open Hearth," she explained to each of them in turn.
"I mind seeing you this afternoon," said Mr. Farrell, "and it seems like I had heard your name before, Mr. Halket."
"I shouldn't wonder; it seems a common one out here," Floyd answered.
"Well, there's no shame in being a poor relation of such folks, if that's what you are," Farrell assured him consolingly.
"Hugh!" cried Mrs. Bell, agonized, and Letty, clapping her handkerchief to her mouth, choked back her laughter.
"Made a break, have I?" asked Farrell; and as he looked round, his face lighted up intelligently. "Well, I suppose, then, you ain't a poor relation. And that's better yet, and it makes no difference with me."
"Then I'm glad to meet you," said Floyd, as they shook hands.
"You won't mind my talk," Farrell promised him. "The only thing that puts a brake on it is the presence of ladies."
"A sort of hot-air brake," suggested Floyd in the slang of the period.
"One on me," Farrell cried. "One on me—eh, Let?"
He was still chuckling and Mrs. Bell was still aghast at his daring and at the use of slang by Colonel Halket's grandson when Floyd passed out of the house.
