"He used to say that kissing was just the reverse of poker—"
"Poker," cried Bartlett. "No wonder your father left the ministry."
"It says in the papers that your father was a policeman," declared the general.
"A policeman of souls," said Henrietta softly.
The general waved the sentiment aside as immaterial. "How could he have been a policeman and a minister?"
"I can't say," answered the Watermelon, and turned to help Billy with a sardine can as the best way out of a tight place.
"How is kissing the reverse of poker?" asked Henrietta, always amused by the Reverend Mr. Batchelor's remarks.
"A pair would beat a royal flush," replied the Watermelon.
"Surely," persisted the general, "if your father were a minister—"
The Watermelon looked up from the key of the tin he was laboriously turning and glanced gently at the general, his woman's eyes amused and pitying, the expression they always wore for the general.