"Poor devil," thought Roger, "he's scared to death--just as I used to be
myself."
"Pretty tough on a woman, isn't it?" Bruce muttered, smiling constrainedly.
"Did Baird say everything's going well?" Baird was Edith's physician.
"Yes. He was here this afternoon, and he said he'd be back this evening."
Bruce stopped with a queer little scowl of suspense. "I told her I'd see to
the trip with the kiddies, and it seemed to relieve her a lot." His eye
went to a pile of documents that lay on the desk before him. "It'll play
the very devil with business, taking three days off just now. But I guess I
can manage it somehow--"
A muscle began to twitch on his face. He re-lit his pipe with elaborate
care and looked over at Roger confidingly:
"Do you know what's the matter with kids these days? It's the twentieth
century," he said. "It's a disease. It starts in their teeth. No modern
girl can get married unless she has had her teeth straightened for years.
Our dentist's bill, this year alone, was over eight hundred dollars. But
that isn't all. It gets into their young intestines, God bless 'em, and
makes you pasteurize all they eat. It gets into their nerves and tears 'em
up, and your only chance to save 'em is school--not a common school but a
'simple' school, tuition four hundred dollars a year. And you hire a
dancing teacher besides--I mean a rhythm teacher--and let 'em shake it out
of their feet.
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