“What are you going to do about it?” inquired the minister, the first to speak.
Jane did not give Oliver a chance to reply. Her eyes were blazing with excitement and there was a thrill in her voice that caused Oliver to laugh outright.
“Do about it?” she cried. “Why, he’s going to run against old Gooch and beat the life out of him!”
“Daughter!”
“Oh, my goodness! I’m so excited! Oliver, you’re a darling for helping those old women out—and you never intended to say a word about it! It was heavenly! And you will go to the State Legislature, and then to Congress, and—Goodness knows how high up you may go!”
Oliver’s smile broadened. “And the Gypsy Queen be hanged,” quoth he.
Jane caught her breath. A startled look flashed into her eyes and was gone.
“The Gypsy Queen be hanged!” she echoed stoutly. “Long live the King!”
Oliver was still looking up at her. She stood at the top of the steps, the light from the open door falling athwart her radiant face, half in shadow, half in the warm, soft glow. Suddenly his heart began to pound—heavy, smothering blows against his ribs that had the effect of making him dizzy; as with vertigo. He continued to stare, possessed of a strange wonder, as she turned to her tall, gray-haired parent and laid both hands on his shoulders.
“I wish I could say ‘gee whiz’ as Sammy says it,” she cried. “I feel all over just like one great big ‘gee whiz.’ Don’t you, Daddy?”