"Dad."
He looked up from his paper; stiffened. "Why, Charley, what's——" Charley almost never cried. He was as disturbed as if this had been a man standing there before him, red-eyed and shaken.
"Listen, Dad. You know that thing Ben Gartz spoke to you about a little while ago? The business. Taking you into it, I mean?"
"That? Yes. What of it?"
"He hasn't said anything lately, has he?"
"Well, he—he—wasn't sure, you know. I thought at the time it was a little wild. Ben's good-hearted, but he's a gabby boy. Doesn't mean quite all he says."
"He meant it all right, Dad. But you see he—he'd like to have me marry him first."
He stared, half willing to laugh if she gave him any encouragement. But she did not. His newspaper came down with a crash, then, as his fingers crushed it and threw it to the floor. "Gartz! You marry Ben Gartz!" She was crying again, helplessly. His two hands gripped her shoulders. "Why, the damned old l——" he stopped himself, shaking a little.
"That's it," said Charley, and she was smiling as she sobbed. "That's the word.... I knew I could count on you, Dad. I knew."
His arms were about her. Her face was pressed against the good rough cloth of his coat. "Sh-sh-sh Charley. Don't let your mother hear you. We mustn't let her know. She'd be wild. He's coming here to dinner, the oily old fox. Gosh, Charley, are you sure you——"