I am rather unpopular
with her just now, because I don't approve of this affair between my
niece Margery and Fred Dillingham. I fancy she'd be rather relieved to
get me out of the way. In fact, everybody says go, except Doctor
Queerington. He is a cousin of ours, used to be my English professor,
up at the university. He has always harbored the illusion that I can
write. Wants me to settle down some place in the country and go at it
in earnest."
"You don't mean John Jay Queerington, the author?" Miss Lady said
eagerly. "Is he really your cousin? Daddy went to school to his
father, and has told me so much about him, that without seeing him, I
could write a book on the subject."
"Great old chap in his way, an authority on heaven knows how many
subjects, yet he scarcely makes enough money to take care of his
children."
"But think of the books he is giving to the world! He told Daddy he
was on his thirteenth volume!"
"Yes, he swims around most of the time in a sea of declensions,
conjugations, and syntaxes, in Greek, Latin and English."
"I think he's magnificent!" cried Miss Lady, trying to hold Prince
down to a walk. "I adore people who do great things and amount to
something.
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