Kirk was not the only person whom the sudden change in the financialposition of the Winfield family had hit hard. The blighting effects ofsudden wealth had touched Steve while Kirk was still in Colombia.

　　In a sense, it had wrecked Steve's world. Nobody had told him to stopor even diminish the number of his visits, but the fact remained that,by the time Kirk returned to New York, he had practically ceased to goto the house on Fifth Avenue.

　　For all his roughness, Steve possessed a delicacy which sometimesalmost amounted to diffidence; and he did not need to be told thatthere was a substantial difference, as far as he was concerned, betweenthe new headquarters of the family and the old. At the studio he hadbeen accustomed to walk in when it pleased him, sure of a welcome; buthe had an idea that he did not fit as neatly into the atmosphere ofFifth Avenue as he had done into that of Sixty-First Street; and nobodydisabused him of it.

　　It was perhaps the presence of Mrs. Porter that really made thedifference. In spite of the compliments she had sometimes paid to hiscommon sense, Mrs. Porter did not put Steve at his ease. He was almostafraid of her. Consequently, when he came to Fifth Avenue, he remainedbelow stairs, talking pugilism with Keggs.

　　It was from Keggs that he first learned of the changes that had takenplace in the surroundings of William Bannister.

　　"I've 'ad the privilege of serving in some of the best houses inEngland," said the butler one evening, as they sat smoking in thepantry, "and I've never seen such goings on. I don't hold with thepampering of children.""What do you mean, pampering?" asked Steve.

　　"Well, Lord love a duck!" replied the butler, who in his moments ofrelaxation was addicted to homely expletives of the lower London type.

　　"If you don't call it pampering, what do you call pampering? He ain'tallowed to touch nothing that ain't been--it's slipped my memory whatthey call it, but it's got something to do with microbes. They sprinklestuff on his toys and on his clothes and on his nurse; what's more, andon any one who comes to see him. And his nursery ain't what _I_call a nursery at all. It's nothing more or less than a private'ospital, with its white tiles and its antiseptics and what not, andthe temperature just so and no lower nor higher. I don't call it 'avinga proper faith in Providence, pampering and fussing over a child tothat extent.""You're stringing me!""Not a bit of it, Mr. Dingle. I've seen the nursery with my own eyes,and I 'ave my information direct from the young person who looks afterthe child.""But, say, in the old days that kid was about the dandiest little sportthat ever came down the pike. You seen him that day I brought him roundto say hello to the old man. He didn't have no nursery at all then, letalone one with white tiles. I've seen him come up off the studio floorlooking like a coon with the dust. And Miss Ruth tickled to see himlike that, too. For the love of Mike, what's come to her?""It's all along of this Porter," said Keggs morosely. "She's done itall. And if," he went on with sudden heat, "she don't break her 'abitof addressing me in a tone what the 'umblest dorg would resent, I'mliable to forget my place and give her a piece of my mind. Coming roundand interfering!""Got _your_ goat, has she?" commented Steve, interested. "She'swhat you'd call a tough proposition, that dame. I used to have my eyeon her all the time in the old days, waiting for her to startsomething. But say, I'd like to see this nursery you've been talkingabout. Take me up and let me lamp it."Keggs shook his head.