The man looked at her suspiciously. "Have you been listening to Reynolds haranging on his soap box?" But seeing her innocence, he went on: "Well, we don't know about those things. There's some reason why." He went on more vigorously: "Of course, some people are privileged because they're stronger; they've better judgment."
But Suzanna didn't understand that. She put the matter aside to think over later, and, if she could remember the words, to repeat them to her father for his explanation at a time when he wasn't hazy and far away from realities.
"What does your father do?" Suzanna's companion resumed after a moment.
"He weighs nails in Job Doane's hardware store," said Suzanna, "and he sells washboards to ladies. My father's a great man. He's an inventor! He has a wonderful machine in the attic and sometimes when he's thinking of his invention, he doesn't see us at all, and mother tells us not to talk then to disturb him."
"What's your father's name?"
"Richard Procter," said Suzanna. And then:
"You are like an eagle; that's why I like you. You'd fight, wouldn't you, if you had to! But I shouldn't mind your shouting. And I'd rather you'd see my toes sticking through my shoe than any person in the world outside my family. Now, get me a needle and thread before they all come back," she finished.
The man stared into her upraised flower-face. His own turned red for the visible second of hesitation. Then he raised his voice and called. The timid one appeared. His master said: "Get me some black thread and a needle; also a thimble. Don't stand there gaping! I'm waiting."
With some difficulty, the amazed valet gained volition over his power of locomotion. He returned shortly bearing the desired articles reposing on a silver tray, and retired once more, his eyes still dazed.
"Now hurry up," said the big man to Suzanna, "if you want to get into the garden at all."