“I know. But you remember what a touch-fire he is. He's always held that business matter against you, though I'm sure you had nothing to do with it. Now, if he wins, and I hope he will, you can take advantage of it to get on better terms with him, and—”
“Well, I'm willing to be friends, you know that, Viola. But I can't pretend—I never could!”
“You're stubborn, Harry!” and Viola pouted.
“Well, perhaps I am. When I know I'm right—”
“Couldn't you forget it just once?”
“I don't see how!”
“Oh, you provoke me! But if you won't you won't, I suppose. Only it would be such a good chance—”
“Well, I'll see him after the match, Viola. I'll do my best to be decent.”
“You must go a little farther than that, Harry. Dad will be all worked up if he wins, and he'll want a fuss made over him. It will be the very chance for you.”
“All right-I'll do my best,” murmured Bartlett. And then a servant came up to summon him to the telephone.