“Father,” said Bernice Forbes as the two sat at dinner that night, “are you a popular man?”
“Bless my soul, Bernie! What do you mean?”
“Just that, Dad. Are you popular among your friends and business associates?”
“Well, that’s a leading question, my girl; and I’m not sure I want to answer it. For, to tell the truth, Daughter, I’m not so very popular,—as popularity goes.”
“Why aren’t you?” and Bernice looked serious.
“Why are you asking?”
“For a good reason, Daddy. Please tell me.”
“Well, then, Bernie, I’m not popular because I’m not willing to forget myself. To be honest, I’m a man of decided opinions,—among others, a pretty good opinion of myself,—and that sort of a nature doesn’t command admiration from the crowd.”
“Don’t you care, Father?”
“Not much. I feel sometimes as if I’d like to be more chummy with my men friends; then I’m apt to say something to provoke them, and they rather evade me.”