Mr. Mifflin is on his way to Port
Vigor where he takes the train to Brooklyn."
Andrew stared at the Professor without speaking. I could tell
by the blaze in his light-blue eyes that he was thoroughly
angry, and I feared things would be worse before they were
better. Andrew is slow to wrath, but a very hard person to
deal with when roused. And I had some inkling by this time of
the Professor's temperament. Moreover, I am afraid that some
of my remarks had rather prejudiced him against Andrew, as a
brother at any rate and apart from his excellent prose.
Mifflin had the next word. He had taken off his funny little
cap, and his bare skull shone like an egg. I noticed a little
sort of fairy ring of tiny drops around his crown.
"My dear sir," said Mifflin, "the proceedings look somewhat
unusual, but the facts are simple to narrate. Your sister has
bought this van and its contents, and I have been instructing
her in my theories of the dissemination of good books. You as
a literary man..."
Andrew paid absolutely no attention to the Professor, and I
saw a slow flush tinge Mifflin's sallow cheek.
"Look here, Helen," said Andrew, "do you think I propose to
have my sister careering around the State with a strolling
vagabond? Upon my soul you ought to have better sense--and at
your age and weight! I got home yesterday and found your
ridiculous note.
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