"Why, yes, Father, that's what I meant. What do you think of it?"
The boy in him came to the front for an instant and looked out of his eyes, though he shrank from the blunt way the older man had of stating facts.
His father eyed him keenly.
"But you're only a boy, Charles, and you're not through college yet. How could you marry?"
"I'm past twenty-one," boasted the boy, and vanished into the man. A graver look came out upon his face.
"I could leave college, if it were necessary, or I could go on and finish. I could work part of the time and take care of her." The last words he breathed gently, reverently, like a benediction.
The father stopped in the wooded path and grasped his son's hand.
"Boy, you've got good stuff in you! I'm proud of you," he said, lifting his head triumphantly. "If only your brother had been like that!" Then he bowed his head in bitter thought.
But the young man's thoughts were not on Harrington now. He grasped his father's hand, and waited impatiently for further words from him.
"Well, Father?"