"Oh! Hum--I see--I see. And, bein' as the old lady--her mother, Mrs.

Fosd.i.c.k, I mean--hasn't suspected anything, or, at any rate, hasn't found out anything until now, yesterday, or whenever it was, I judge you have been meetin'--er--Madeline at places where there wasn't--well, too large a crowd. Eh?"

Albert hesitated and was, momentarily, a trifle embarra.s.sed. But he recovered at once.

"I met her first at the drug store last summer," he said defiantly.

"Then I met her after that at the post office and at the hotel dance last fall, and so on. This year I met her--well, I met her first down by the beach, where I went to write. She liked poetry and--and she helped me with mine. After that she came--well, she came to help me again. And after that--after that--"

"After that it just moved along kind of natural, eh? Um-hm, I see."

"Look here, Grandfather, I want you to understand that she is--is--by George, she is the cleanest, finest, best girl in the world. Don't you get the idea that--that she isn't. She came to meet me just because she was interested in my verse and wanted to help. It wasn't until the very last that we--that we found out we cared for each other."

"All right, boy, all right. Go on, tell me the whole yarn, if you feel like it. I don't want to pry too much into your affairs, but, after all, I AM interested in those affairs, Al. Tell me as much as you can."

"I'll tell you the whole. There's nothing I can't tell, nothing I'm not proud to tell. By George, I ought to be proud! Why, Grandfather, she's wonderful!"

"Sartin, son, sartin. They always are. I mean she is, of course. Heave ahead."

So Albert told his love story. When he had finished Captain Zelote's pipe was empty, and he put it down.

"Albert," he said slowly, "I judge you mean this thing seriously. You mean to marry her some day."

"Yes, indeed I do. And I won't give her up, either. Her mother--why, what right has her mother got to say--to treat her in this way? Or to call me what she calls me in that letter? Why, by George--"

"Easy, son. As I understand it, this Madeline of yours is the only child the Fosd.i.c.ks have got and when our only child is in danger of bein'

carried off by somebody else--why, well, their mothers and fathers are liable to be just a little upset, especially if it comes on 'em sudden.

... n.o.body knows that better than I do," he added slowly.

Albert recognized the allusion, but he was not in the mood to be affected by it. He was not, just then, ready to make allowances for any one, particularly the parental Fosd.i.c.ks.

"They have no business to be upset--not like that, anyhow," he declared.

"What does that woman know about me? What right has she to say that I ensnared Madeline's affection and all that rot? Madeline and I fell in love with each other, just as other people have, I suppose."

"You suppose right," observed Captain Zelotes, dryly. "Other people have--a good many of 'em since Adam's time."

"Well, then! And what right has she to give orders that I stop writing or seeing Madeline,--all that idiotic stuff about ceasing and terminating at once? She--she--" His agitation was making him incoherent--"She talks like Lord Somebody-or-other in an old-fashioned novel or play or something. Those old fools were always rejecting undesirable suitors and ordering their daughters to do this and that, breaking their hearts, and so on. But that sort of thing doesn't go nowadays. Young people have their own ideas."

"Um-hm, Al; so I've noticed."

"Yes, indeed they have. Now, if Madeline wants to marry me and I want to marry her, who will stop us?"

The captain pulled at his beard.

"Why, n.o.body, Al, as I know of," he said; "provided you both keep on wantin' to marry each other long enough."

"Keep on wanting long enough? What do you mean by that?"

"Why, nothin' much, perhaps; only gettin' married isn't all just goin'

to the parson. After the ceremony the rent begins and the grocers' bills and the butchers' and the bakers' and a thousand or so more. Somebody's got to pay 'em, and the money's got to come from somewhere. Your wages here, Al, poetry counted in, ain't so very big yet. Better wait a spell before you settle down to married life, hadn't you?"

"Well--well, I--I didn't say we were to be married right away, Grandfather. She and I aren't unreasonable. I'm doing better and better with my writings. Some day I'll make enough, and more. Why not?"

There was enough of the Speranza egotism in this confident a.s.surance to bring the twinkle to the captain's eye. He twisted his beard between his finger and thumb and regarded his grandson mildly.

"Have you any idea how much 'enough' is liable to be, Al?" he inquired.

"I don't know the facts about 'em, of course, but from what I have heard I judge the Fosd.i.c.ks have got plenty of cash. I've heard it estimated around town from one million to fifty millions. Allowin' it's only one million, it seems likely that your--er--what's-her-name--Madeline has been used to havin' as much as fifty cents to spend whenever she wanted it. Do you cal'late to be able to earn enough makin' up poetry to keep her the way her folks have been doin'?"

"No, of course not--not at first."

"Oh, but later on--when the market price of poetry has gone up--you can, eh?"

"Look here, Grandfather, if you're making fun of me I tell you I won't stand it. This is serious; I mean it. Madeline and I are going to be married some time and no one can stop us."

"All right, son, all right. But it did seem to me that in the light of this letter from--er--your mother-in-law that's goin' to be, we ought to face the situation moderately square, anyhow. First comes marriage.

Well, that's easy; any fool can get married, lots of 'em do. But then, as I said, comes supportin' yourself and wife--bills, bills, and more bills. You'll say that you and she will economize and fight it out together. Fine, first-rate, but later on there may be more of you, a child, children perhaps--"

"Grandfather!"

"It's possible, son. Such things do happen, and they cost money. More mouths to feed. Now I take it for granted that you aren't marryin' the Fosd.i.c.k girl for her money--"

The interruption was prompt and made with fiery indignation.

"I never thought of her money," declared Albert. "I don't even know that she has any. If she has, I don't want it. I wouldn't take it. She is all I want."

Captain Zelotes' lip twitched.

"Judgin' from the tone of her ma's last letter to me," he observed, "she is all you would be liable to get. It don't read as if many--er--weddin'

presents from the bride's folks would come along with her. But, there, there, Al don't get mad. I know this is a long ways from bein' a joke to you and, in a way, it's no joke for me. Course I had realized that some day you'd be figgerin', maybe, on gettin' married, but I did hope the figgerin' wouldn't begin for some years yet. And when you did, I rather hoped--well, I--I hoped... . However, we won't stop to bother with that now. Let's stick to this letter of Mrs. Fosd.i.c.k's here. I must answer that, I suppose, whether I want to or not, to-day. Well, Al, you tell me, I understand that there has been nothin' underhand in your acquaintance with her daughter. Other than keepin' the engagement a secret, that is?"

"Yes, I do."

"And you mean to stick by your guns and... . Well, what is it? Come in!"

There had been a knock upon the office door. In answer to his employer's summons, Mr. Keeler appeared. He held a card in his hand.

"Sorry to disturb you, Cap'n Lote," he said. "Yes, I be, yes, sir. But I judged maybe 'twas somethin' important about the lumber for his house and he seemed anxious to see you, so I took the risk and knocked.

Um-hm--yes, yes, yes."

Captain Zelotes looked at the card. Then he adjusted his spectacles and looked again.

"Humph!" he grunted. "Humph! ... We-ell, Labe, I guess likely you might show him in here. Wait just a minute before you do it, though.

I'll open the door when I want him to come."

"All right, Cap'n Lote. Yes, yes," observed Mr. Keeler and departed. The captain looked thoughtfully at the card.

"Al," he said, after a moment's reflection, "we'll have to cut this talk of ours short for a little spell. You go back to your desk and wait there until I call you. Hold on," as his grandson moved toward the door of the outer office. "Don't go that way. Go out through the side door into the yard and come in the front way. There's--er--there's a man waitin' to see me, and--er--perhaps he'd better not see you first."

Albert stared at him uncomprehendingly.

"Better not see ME?" he repeated. "Why shouldn't he see me?"