“And may I inquire, Henry Oliphant,” said the old lady at the head of the table;—“is that all you intend to do about it?”
“Well, I might talk to him after he cools off a little.”
“Yes, I suppose that will be all!” Mrs. Savage returned with a short laugh, emphatically one of disapproval. “It’s a fine generation you modern people are raising. When I was fifteen I was supposed to be a woman, but my father whipped me for a slight expression of irreverence on Sunday.”
“I’m sorry to hear it, ma’am,” her son-in-law said genially.
“I’m not sorry it happened,” she informed him, not relaxing. “Such things were part of a discipline that made a strong people.”
“Yes, ma’am; I’ve no doubt it’s to your generation we owe what the country is to-day.”
“And it’s your generation that’s going to let it go to the dogs!” the old lady retorted sharply. “May I ask what you intend to do to protect Harlan when you go home and his brother attacks him?”
But at this Oliphant laughed. “Dan won’t attack him. By the time we get home Dan will probably be in bed.”
“Then he’ll attack Harlan to-morrow.”
“No, he won’t, ma’am. I don’t say Dan won’t sleep on a damp pillow to-night, the way he was going on, but by to-morrow he’ll have forgotten all about it.”