Mr. Goodchild quickly opened his mouth, but before the sound could come H. R. went on, hurriedly, "Suppose you had set your heart upon her becoming a mathematician. Would that make her one?"
"Never!" instantly declared the non-mathematical Grace.
Mr. Goodchild shook his head violently and again opened his mouth. But H. R. once more surpassed him in speed and pursued, calmly argumentative:
"Or suppose you did not believe in vaccination. Is your opinion to be allowed to prevail against the advice of your competent family physician until Grace gets the disease and you are forced to acknowledge that you were wrong? Or would even the sight of the most beautiful face in the world pitted and pockmarked fail to shake your own faith in your own infallibility?"
Grace shuddered. "Father!" she exclaimed, horror-stricken, and glared at Mr. Goodchild. She was now thinking of paternal opposition in terms of smallpox.
"But—" angrily expostulated Mr. Goodchild.
"Exactly," agreed H. R., hastily. "That's it. Now for a favor. Will you let me talk business with you? My business!"
Mr. Goodchild's business was to know all about the business of others. But he did not take it home with him. However, before he could do more than shake his head, H. R. went on:
"I am organizing six companies."
That sounded like good business. But Mr. Goodchild nodded non-committally from force of habit.