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 talking about the riot of the night before, observing that, "now that the police had tried something besides coddling a lot of dirty foreigners, the strike was overt in a hurry."

At this remark, Philip rose quietly and went out without another word to either of them. At home he found the druggist's wife sitting with the twins. Naomi, she said, was out. She had gone to see Mabelle. Mrs. Stimson wanted more details of his father's return, and also news of what had happened at Shane's Castle. After answering a dozen questions, he went away quickly.

At four o'clock his father came and saw the twins, diddling them both on his feet until they cried and Mrs. Stimson said, with the air of a snapping-turtle, "I'm going to leave them with you. Naomi ought to have been home two hours ago, and I've got a household of my own to look after." (Even for her poor Jason appeared to have lost his fascination.)

At seven when Philip came in to sit with the twins while Naomi went to choir practice, he found little Naomi crying and his father asleep in the Morris-chair by the gas stove. Jason had removed his collar and wrapped himself in a blanket. With him, sleeping was simply a way of filling in time between the high spots in existence: he slept when he was bored, and he slept when he was forced to wait.

Holding the baby against him, and patting its back softly, Philip approached his father and touched him with the toe of his shoe. "Pa!" he said. "Pa! Wake up!"

Jason awakened with all the catlike reluctance of a sensual nature, stretching himself and yawning and