The younger man was righteously indignant. “Uncle John, I admit I haven’t won any medals for––for some things,––and maybe you think I am the kind of bird that would––do this on a bet, or a dare––and if you do think that––I guess we’re both mistaken in each other!”
His uncle’s hand went up. “Hold your horses! You’ve answered the question. If you hadn’t got mad, I’d have thrown you out the window. Why did you do it, then?... No––never mind.” He looked away. “I know. Spring, and impulse and no emergency brakes. 18 I know....” He looked back at Henry, and smiled oddly. “And I was just goin’ to tell you, before you sprung it on me, that if you cared two cents about that girl,––and me, too,––you’d want to deserve her:––do somethin’ besides be a model to hang expensive clothes on.”
“Yes,” said Henry, also judicial. “I guess I’m entitled to that wallop.”
His uncle nodded. “That one and quite a few more. Still, you never heard anybody accuse me of not bein’ a good sport, did you?”
“No, Uncle John. I counted on it.”
“Who knows this––besides us?”
“Just Bob Standish. We took him along for a witness.”
“So! Bob Standish! Hm. I’d have thought Bob’d had sense enough to try to stop it. I’ll have words with him.”
“He did try.”
Mr. Starkweather rose. “Where’s Anna?”