'Well, that laggard at least is off to shoot his best,' said Mortimer lightly.
'Morty,' said the old man, and pressed his hand, 'you'll ha' to forgive me. I've had hard thoughts of you, Morty.' His faded eyes were suffused.
'Don't let's think of that, dad,' said Mortimer. 'What horses do you think I'd better take?'
'In the morning, in the morning,' said Stevenson. 'I only want to sit still to-night, and thank God I've got one son that's a man.'
Mortimer looked at the creased, illumined face, the wet eyes, the old, working mouth. His heart swelled towards him.
'Dad, old fellow,' he said, 'I'm hard hit. I love a girl, and she won't have me.'
His father gripped his hand.
'Poor chap, poor chap!' he said. 'I know, I've been through it. I loved a girl before I married your mother, and I met her daughter the other day, and it was the same as if it had been yesterday.' He looked at his big son with new eyes. 'The girl's got hanged bad taste,' he said.
'You'd have liked her, dad,' Morty said. 'Not like the girls round here, big, strapping women; very slender and sweet-looking, her skin's as pink and soft as that baby of Jack's.'
'Happen I know her?' said his father.