"Why shouldn't I? Father left me the money and I'm spending it in a way that he would approve of."
A sharp note sounded in her voice, but Hiram answered with unchanging gentleness. "I know, Betty, Bryce Thompson would have approved of your goin' to the South Pole to pick strawberries, if ye wanted to. He couldn't refuse ye a thing, he never did refuse ye; but I've been left your guardian, Betty, and it's my duty to tell ye that our present state o' finances don't justify givin' away five-pound notes to strange women ye meet on railway trains."
"I'd rather give my money to unfortunate girls who've never had a chance," retorted Betty with increasing spirit, "than—than to gamble it away in Wall Street!"
"Is that a little friendly jab at me?"
Betty tried vainly to control her emotion. "You've always been so good to me, Guardy, so considerate that I hate to say anything unkind, but I read the papers and—I understand more than you think about business."
"Do, eh? Such as—what?"
"I know there's a fight going on between two copper companies and—and you're in it, aren't you?"
Baxter smiled grimly. "I guess I'm in it, all right."
"And one company or the other may be ruined. Isn't that true?"
"Well," drawled her guardian, "I guess one comp'ny or the other's liable to find out that the thing they've been monkeyin' with ain't precisely a Sunday school picnic."