"Wal, honey, what you _want_ the teacher fer?"

She stopped, and up went that pert, little haid. "You recollect what Doctor Simpson said about my voice that night at the social?" she begun.

"This teacher says _the same thing._"

Like a flash, I _re_called what _Hairoil_ 'd tole me. "Mace," I says, "I want t' ast you about that. A-course, I know it ain't so. But Hairoil says you got pictures of actresses and singers tacked up in you' room--just one 'r two."

"Yas," she answers; "that's straight. What about it?"

"It's all right, I guess. But the ole son-of-a-gun got the idear, kinda, that you was thinkin' some of--of the East."

"Alec," she says, frank as could be, "yesterday Doctor Simpson got a letter from Noo York. He'd writ a big teacher there, inquirin' if I had a chanst t' git into op'ra--_grand_ op'ra--and the teacher says yas."

I couldn't answer nothin'. I just sit there, knocked plumb silly, almost, and looked at a big rose in the carpet. _Noo York!_

She brung her hands t'gether. "Why not?" she answers. "It'll give me the chanst I want. If I'm a success, you could come on too, Alec.

Then we'd marry, and you could go along with me as my manager."

I looked at her. I was hurt--hurt plumb t' the quick, and a little mad, too. "I _see_ myself!" I says. "Travel along with you' poodle.

Huh! And you wearin' circus clothes like that Miss Marvellous Murray, and lettin' some feller kiss you in the play. Macie,"--and I meant what I said--"you can just put the hull thing right to one side.

I--won't--_have_--it!"

She set her lips tight, and her face got a deep red.

"So _this_ is the way you keep you' word!" she says. "A minute ago, you said you wasn't goin' t' try to run me no more. Wal,--you wasn't in earnest. I can see that. 'Cause here's the same thing over again."

The door into the ole man's bedroom opened then, and he come walkin'

out. "You two make a thunderin' lot of noise," he begun. "What in the d.i.c.kens is the matter?"

Mace turned to him, face still a-blazin'. "Alec's allus tryin' t'

run me," she answers, "and I'm gittin' plumb tired of it."

Sewell's mouth come open. "Run you," he says. "Wal, some while back he done all the runnin' he's ever a-goin' t' do in _this_ house. And he don't do no more of it. By what right is he a-interferin' now?"

I got to my feet. "_This_ right, boss:" I says, "I love Macie."

He begun to kinda swell--gradual. And if a look could 'a' kilt me, I'd 'a' keeled over that second.

"You--love--Macie!" he says slow. "Wal , I'll be darned if you haven't got _cheek!_"

"Sorry you look at it that way, boss."

"And so you got the idear into that peanut haid of yourn"--he was sarcastic now--"that you could marry my gal! Honest, I ain't met a bigger idjit 'n you in ten years."

"No man but Mace's paw could say that t' me safe."

"Why," he goes on, "you could just about be President of the United States as easy as you could be the husband of this gal. M' son, I think I tole you on one occasion that you'd play Cupid just oncet too many."

"That's what you did."

"This is _it_. And, also, I tole you that the smarty who can allus bring other folks t'gether never can hitch hisself."

"You got a good mem'ry, Sewell."

Mace broke in then--feard they'd be trouble, I reckon. "Please let's cut this short," she says. "The only thing I want Alec to remember is that I ain't a-goin' t' be bossed by _no_ man."

Sewell patted her on the shoulder. "That's my gal a-talkin'!" he says. "Bully fer you!"

"All right, Mace," I says, "a-all _right._" And I took up my Stetson.

The ole man dropped into a chair and begun t' laugh. (Could laugh now, thinkin' it was all up 'twixt Mace and me.) "Haw! haw! haw!" he started off, slappin' one knee. "Mister Cupid cain't do nothin' fer hisself!" Then he laid back and just _hollered,_ slingin' out his laig with ev'ry cackle; and pawin' the air fin'lly, he got so short-winded.

"Aw, lawdy!" he yelled; "aw--I'll _bust_. Mister _Cupid! Whew!_"

I got hot. "You found a he-he's aig in a haw-haw's nest," I begun.

"Wal, I'll say back to you what you oncet said to me: _Just wait._"

Then I faced Macie. "All right, little gal," I says to her, "I s'pose you know best. Pack you' duds and go East--and sing on the stage in Noo York."

The ole man 'd stopped laughin' t' listen. Now he sit up straight, a hand on each arm of the chair, knees spread, mouth wider open 'n ever, eyes plumb crossed. "Go East!" he repeats, "--sing!--stage!--Noo York!"

Mace showed her sand, all right. "Yas," she answers; "you got it _exac'ly_ right, paw--Noo York."

He riz up, face as white as anythin' so sunbaked can look. "Git that crazy idear outen you' brain this _minute!_" he begun. "I won't allow you t' stir a _step!_ The stage! Lawd a-mighty! Why, _you_ ain't got no voice fer the stage. You can only squawk."

It was mighty pretty t' see 'em--father and daughter--standin' out agin each other. Alike in temper as two peas, y' savvy. And I knowed somethin' was sh.o.r.e goin' to pop.

"Squawk!" repeats Mace. (_That_ was the finishin' touch.) "I'll just show you! Some day when my voice's made me famous, you'll be sorry fer that. And you, too, Alec Lloyd, if you _do_ think my voice is all taffy.

I'll show you _both!_"

"Wal," Sewell come back, "you don't use none of _my_ money fer t'

make you' show." He was pretty nigh screechin'.

"Wait till I _ast_ you fer it," she says, pert haid up again. "_Keep_ you' money. I can earn my own. _I_ ain't scairt of work."

And just like she was, in the little, white dress she used t' meet me in--she up and walked out!

Now, it was the ole man's turn t' walk the floor. "Noo York!" he begun, his eyes dartin' fire. "Did y' ever _hear_ such a blamed fool proposition! Doc Simpson is _re_sponsible fer that."

"It's been goin' on fer quite a spell," I says. "But I didn't know how far till just afore you come in. Simpson, a-course, is the man."

That second, _clickety_--_clickety_--_clickety_--_click!_--a hoss was a-pa.s.sin' the house on the dead run. We both looked. It was that bald-faced bronc of Macie's, makin' fer the gate like a streak of lightnin'. And the little gal was in the saddle.

"She's goin', boss," I says. (The bald-face was haided towards Briggs.)

"_Let_ her go," says Sewell. "Let her ride off her mad."

"Boss," I says, "I'm t' blame fer this kick-up. Yas, I am."

And _I_ begun t' walk the floor.