Garwood grunted. He was not interested in the weather, save as it affected business. Snow blockades and wash-outs and natural phenomena producing them received his attention. Apart from such things he scarcely knew whether a day was fine or not.
“All very well for people who have time to burn,” he commented. “I haven’t.”
“Young people enjoy it,” said Mr. Ackerman, getting his opening. “I saw your daughter go by in a car as I came downtown. Lovely girl that. I thought she looked remarkably well and happy.”
“She ought to be happy,” said her father grimly. “She spends enough money.”
“You can afford it. It won’t be long till some one else is paying her bills. Plenty of young men would think it a privilege.”
Garwood, from his knowledge of Mr. Ackerman’s indirect methods of approach, suddenly regarded him with attention.
“What are you driving at, anyway, Ackerman?” he asked. “You don’t want to marry her, do you?”
Mr. Ackerman disclaimed any such desire with haste and evident sincerity. “There was a very good-looking young fellow with her this afternoon,” he observed.
“Trust her for that,” growled Garwood. “Who was it? Young Statten?”
“No,” said Mr. Ackerman slowly, enjoying the sensation in advance, “his name is Kent, Joseph Kent of Falls City.”