“And that is why he wants me to stay here, so that he can watch over and protect me?”
“Exactly. Only he can not force himself to come out flatly and say so. He is ashamed to say it to you, Oliver.”
“If I really believed that to be the case, Uncle Herbert, I—I would stay.”
“It is the case, my lad,” said the minister earnestly.
“I’ll—I’ll think it over to-night,” said Oliver. “To-morrow I will put it up to him squarely. If he says he wants me to stay for that reason, I will chuck everything and—and go into the store.”
“A year or so out of your life, Oliver, is a very small matter. But a year out of his is a great one, especially as it will seem like a hundred to him. Yes, my boy, think it over. And think of him more than of yourself while you are about it.”
“I guess maybe I deserve that slap, Mr. Sage. It touched the quick, but—I guess I deserve it.”
He ran his fingers through his moist, disheveled hair—and then looked at them curiously. With his other hand he fanned himself with his straw hat.
Jane, who had been silent during the brief colloquy between her father and Oliver, was studying the young man’s face intently. She was puzzled by his manner and by his expression. He spoke jerkily, as if under a strain, and his lips twitched. She noticed that his shoes were very muddy.
“I came over by the back road, along the swamp,” he explained, catching her in the act of staring at his feet. “Father walked part of the way with me. He was pleasant enough to start off with, and I thought everything was all right between us, but when I told him I couldn’t reconsider—he went up in the air—and—Gee, what a panning he gave me! It was terrible, Mr. Sage. I saw red. I felt like taking him by the throat and choking him, just to make him stop abusing me. I—I had to run—I couldn’t stand it. God, how miserable I am!”