Gertrude nodded. “I believe it is the same one,” she said. “Yes, I am sure of it. He came out to the college at one of our commencements. One of the girls invited him. He danced with me—once. They said he was very wealthy.”
“Humph! All the wealth he had come from Aunt Laviny, far's I ever heard. He was her pet and the only thing she ever spent money on, except herself. And you met him! Well, this is a small world. Like him, did you?”
“No,” said Gertrude, and changed the subject.
Before her father departed for the store and she went to her room to finish packing, she sat upon the arm of his chair and, bending down, said:
“Daddy, if you hadn't got this money, this three thousand dollars, do you know what I had very nearly made up my mind to do?”
“No, I'm sure I don't.”
“I had almost decided not to stay at college, but to come back here and live with you and mother.”
“For the land sakes! Why?”
“Because I was sure you needed me. You never told me, of course—being you, you wouldn't—but I was sure that you were troubled about—about things.”
“Me? Troubled? What put that into your head? I'm the most gay, happy-go-lucky fellow in the world. I don't get troubled enough. Ask your mother if that ain't so.”