View PDF - Brown University Library

56 Mr. Boyle" 'Tis foine names yez have," he answeredpolitely, and finished unexpectedly with:"But fer all thot yez are no better thinany other min." And a vague questionwhich had more than once suggested itselfto the board of the Law Record rosein their minds again—were they "kidding"Mr. Boyle or was he "kidding"them? They were never quite sure.However, he was returning now to hislaw-book, and they dropped back oneafter another to desks and work. Hestood in the centre of the room, a humblefigure, yet quite assured, quite dignifiedin his simplicity, and read aloud to himselfin an undertone. "Um-um-umityum-um"—itwas a manner of hummingand buzzing in the rich voice with nowand then a word distinct. It did not annoyanybody in that room; Mr. Boylewas the child of the Law Record and thiswas one of his games. Suddenly the bookwas laid—bang—on the nearest desk.'"Tis not so," announced Mr. Boyle."What's up?" asked Alan Huntington."Th' book says," answered Mr. Boyle,"thot mon and woife is wan per-rson.""That's so in law," announced Huntington.Huntington loved argument likecake. "The law says they are one person.And you know, lex non curat de minimis"he added with solemnity.Mr. Boyle was staggered. "Th' law isa fear-rful shtudy; th' law is an exthryardin'ryshtudy," he muttered, and returnedto the charge. "But mon andwoife is two per-rsons; if th' law saysthey're not"—he brought down his fist onHuntington's desk—"thin, dom ut, th'law's unconstitooshional."The echoes of the Record office wakedthen to attend to such shouts and squealsand howls and thumps of joy as eventhey had seldom experienced. Dick Battle,book-review editor, caught the editorin chief by the waist, and a danceflowed across the open spaces which theCastles could not duplicate. Mr. Boyleregarded the two intently as they whirledand waved long legs; he regarded Dickas, after Byrd shook loose, he went on amoment with a pas seul. Dick Battle hadbeen described by a young woman of hisown Georgia city as "Phoebus Apollowith his eyes strictly on the horses." Hewas six feet two, and the glory and dreamof a divinity were in his eyes even whenthey regarded beefsteak. Also he carried,apparently, the responsibility of him who"drives the horses of the sun." Discouraginglyimpersonal to admiring youngwomen he was. Yet human, the presentpas seul showed him to be human."A foine young mon," pronounced Mr.Boyle, "a very foine young mon, but—"He tapped his head pityingly.Which once more raised the roof. Mr.Boyle was making hits to-night. Dickthrew his big shout of laughter into thechorus at his own expense with joyfulwhole-heartedness.Then, "What about your history, Mr.Boyle?" he demanded, harking back inself-defense; " don't you find that you andyour wife are one person?"A sheepish grin dawned over the expanseof the Irishman's face and he shookhis head slowly. "No, sor-r," said Mr.Boyle, and there was a quality in the twosyllables which once more set laughterringing." Does she bullyrag you? Tell us aboutit?" suggested Dick, glad to distract attentionfrom his own late conspicuousness."Tell it short," Holloway Byrd added,glancing at his pile of papers. "We oughtto get to work."" 'Tis a foine old gyurl, me woife,"stated Mr. Boyle; and then, impersonally,shaking a solemn finger at the group listeningto him, watching him; shaking theknotty finger slowly, pausing to preparean atmosphere for his climax, he bent tothem and hissed in a thrilling whisper:"Th' old gyurl's a soofragette.""Good for her," Holloway Byrd responded,but the board was divided."Too bad, old man," and "Don't youstand for it, Mr. Boyle," some of themsaid, and Dick Battle, the late joyfuldancer, stood with hands in his pockets,frowning."Ther-r's wor-rse," the Irishman wenton, and the irresistible smile of him hadthem all smiling, even Battle, the Georgian."Oi'm a soofragette meself," announcedMr. Boyle.A running fire of laughter and cheersburst at that. "Oh, come now," Huntingtonadjured him. "You don't reallybelieve in that stuff? Why, women