Isn't it funny? Strangest thing! But there, Diane, I wonder
your poor dear grandfather doesn't turn straight over in his grave--I
do indeed. Many and many a time your poor father tried him sorely--and
Carl's mother too." Aunt Agatha sniffed meekly.
"Will you go alone?" she ventured, wiping her eyes.
"Bless your heart, Aunt Agatha, no!" laughed Diane radiantly. "I'm
going to take old Johnny Jutes with me!"
Diane kissed her aunt lightly on the forehead.
"Well," said Aunt Agatha in melancholy resignation, "if you must turn
gypsy, my dear, and wander about the country, Johnny Jutes is the best
one to go along. He's old and faithful and used to your whims and
surely after thirty years of service, he won't break into tantrums."
Silver-sweet through the quiet house came the careless ripple of a
flute, showering light and sensuous music. There was a dare-devil lilt
and sway to the flippant strains and Aunt Agatha covered her face with
her hands.
"Oh, Diane," she whispered, shuddering, "when he plays like that he
drinks and drinks and drinks until morning."
"Poor Aunt Agatha!" said the girl pityingly. "What troublesome folk we
Westfalls are! And I no less than Carl."
"No, no, my dear!" murmured Aunt Agatha. "It's only when Carl plays
like that--that I grow afraid.
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