"BIG BOY,—Go on and let the world make you a great man. I'm groping.
Perhaps I'll see my way some day and can follow. But just as there's a
cure for ignorance, so there's a cure for hearts, maybe. Your friend,
CLARE."
Harlan looked over the edge of the paper into the twinkling little eyes of the father. Mr. Kavanagh seemed to be getting much satisfaction from the expression on his victim's face.
"Can't you tell me what this means, Mr. Kavanagh? I beg of you humbly, and in all sincerity."
"The Kavanaghs are never backward in politeness, Mr. Harlan Thornton. It means that my girl is done playing child and riding cock-horse. She's off to learn to be the finest and knowingest lady in all the land—she's off because she wanted to go, and she's got all of Dennis Kavanagh's fat wallet behind her!" He slapped his breast-pocket.
"Off where?"
"Where they know things and teach things better than they do over in your Yankeeland of airs and frills. And now good-day to ye!"
He climbed the porch steps, and relighted his pipe, gazing with much relish past the flame of the match, studying Harlan's dismay.
The young man suddenly came to himself, struck his horse, and galloped wildly away.
The next morning he departed to offer political hand and sword in the cause of General Waymouth.