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would probably do as well as most children, whatever happened--and then, anyhow, he had no
intention of forsaking them financially, if he could help it. He did not want to separate his wife
from her children, nor them from her. She should keep them. He wanted them to be comfortable
with her. He would like to see them, wherever they were with her, occasionally. Only he wanted
his own personal freedom, in so far as she and they were concerned, to go off and set up a new
world and a new home with Aileen. So now on these last days, and particularly this last Sunday
night, he was rather noticeably considerate of his boy and girl, without being too openly
indicative of his approaching separation from them.
"Frank," he said to his notably lackadaisical son on this occasion, "aren't you going to straighten
up and be a big, strong, healthy fellow? You don't play enough. You ought to get in with a gang
of boys and be a leader. Why don't you fit yourself up a gymnasium somewhere and see how
strong you can get?"
They were in the senior Cowperwood's sitting-room, where they had all rather consciously
gathered on this occasion.
Lillian, second, who was on the other side of the big library table from her father, paused to
survey him and her brother with interest. Both had been carefully guarded against any real
knowledge of their father's affairs or his present predicament. He was going away on a journey
for about a month or so they understood. Lillian was reading in a Chatterbox book which had
been given her the previous Christmas.
"He won't do anything," she volunteered, looking up from her reading in a peculiarly critical way
for her. "Why, he won't ever run races with me when I want him to."
"Aw, who wants to run races with you, anyhow?" returned Frank, junior, sourly. "You couldn't
run if I did want to run with you."
"Couldn't I?" she replied. "I could beat you, all right."
"Lillian!" pleaded her mother, with a warning sound in her voice.
Cowperwood smiled, and laid his hand affectionately on his son's head. "You'll be all right,
Frank," he volunteered, pinching his ear lightly. "Don't worry--just make an effort."
The boy did not respond as warmly as he hoped. Later in the evening Mrs. Cowperwood
noticed that her husband squeezed his daughter's slim little waist and pulled her curly hair
gently. For the moment she was jealous of her daughter.
"Going to be the best kind of a girl while I'm away?" he said to her, privately.
"Yes, papa," she replied, brightly.
"That's right," he returned, and leaned over and kissed her mouth tenderly. "Button Eyes," he
said.
Mrs. Cowperwood sighed after he had gone. "Everything for the children, nothing for me," she
thought, though the children had not got so vastly much either in the past.
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