"Bosh! You're at ours and I can prove it," asserted Tom, stretching
out a foot of goodly size.
"Peace! Withdraw that battering ram!" pleaded Roger. "I'll tell you
all about it. Tom's really responsible for this idea, anyway."
"Ideas, real fresh ones, aren't much in my line," admitted practical
Tom, "but I'm glad to have helped for once."
"I don't suppose you remember that time last autumn when I went in to
New York to see you and you took me down to the chapel where your
father preaches on Sunday afternoons?"
"I remember it; we found Father there talking with a lot of mothers and
children."
"That's the time. Well, those women and children got on my nerves like
anything. You see, out here in Rosemont we haven't any real suffering
like that. There are poor people, and Mother always does what she can
for them, and there's a Charitable Society, as you know, because you
all helped with the Donnybrook Fair they had on St. Patrick's Day. But
the people they help out here are regular Rockefellers compared with
those poor creatures that your father had in his office that day."
"Father says he could spend a million dollars a year on those people,
and not have a misspent cent," said Delia.
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