The ole man dropped into a chair and begun t’ laugh. (Could laugh now, thinkin’ it was all up ’twixt Mace and me.) “Haw! haw! haw!” he started off, slappin’ one knee. “Mister Cupid cain’t do nothin’ fer hisself!” Then he laid back and just hollered, slingin’ out his laig with ev’ry cackle; and pawin’ the air fin’lly, he got so short-winded. “Aw, lawdy!” he yelled; “aw–I’ll bust. Mister Cupid! Whew!”
I got hot. “You found a he-he’s aig in a haw-haw’s nest,” I begun. “Wal, I’ll say back to you what you oncet said to me: Just wait.” Then I faced Macie. “All right, little gal,” I says to her, “I s’pose you know best. Pack you’ duds and go East–and sing on the stage in Noo York.”
The ole man ’d stopped laughin’ t’ listen. Now he sit up straight, a hand on each arm of the chair, knees spread, mouth wider open ’n ever, eyes plumb crossed. “Go East!” he repeats, “–sing!–stage!–Noo York!”
Mace showed her sand, all right. “Yas,” she answers; “you got it exac’ly right, paw–Noo York.”
He riz up, face as white as anythin’ so sunbaked can look. “Git that crazy idear outen you’ brain this minute!” he begun. “I won’t allow you t’ stir a step! The stage! Lawd a-mighty! Why, you ain’t got no voice fer the stage. You can only squawk.”
It was mighty pretty t’ see ’em–father and daughter–standin’ out agin each other. Alike in temper as two peas, y’ savvy. And I knowed somethin’ was shore goin’ to pop.
“Squawk!” repeats Mace. (That was the finishin’ touch.) “I’ll just show you! Some day when my voice’s made me famous, you’ll be sorry fer that. And you, too, Alec Lloyd, if you do think my voice is all taffy. I’ll show you both!”
“Wal,” Sewell come back, “you don’t use none of my money fer t’ make you’ show.” He was pretty nigh screechin’.
“Wait till I ast you fer it,” she says, pert haid up again. “Keep you’ money. I can earn my own. I ain’t scairt of work.”
And just like she was, in the little, white dress she used t’ meet me in–she up and walked out!