They pay a regular tribute to
you for privileges and protection. Artful Dick Cronk gave you half of
the hundred he filched from the old man at Charlottesville last week.
I--"
"Here, here!" he said in an angry whisper. "Don't talk so damned loud.
Next thing you'll be telling that sort of stuff to the girl. That'd be
a nice thing for her to think, wouldn't it? Say, don't you ever let me
hear of you breathin' a word of that kind to her. I'd--I'd beat your
brains out. Understand?"
"Oh, I'm not likely to tell her what kind of a man her father is,"
said his wife bitterly. "Take care, Tom, that she doesn't find it out
for herself. Be quiet! She is coming."
The girl, cleansed of her paint and powder, her lithe body clad in a
prim, navy blue frock, the skirt of which came below the tops of her
high-laced boots, approached hastily from the women's section. She was
tying the strings of her quaint poke-bonnet under her chin, and her
eyes were gleaming with excitement.
"Where is that boy?" she asked, looking about in some anxiety.
"Father, you should see him. He is so different from the boys who
follow--"
"We were just talking about him," interrupted her father shortly.
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