“Yes. I—well, I hope to some day. But—”
“There aren’t any ‘buts.’ You’ve worked a good many days at this job—must have. No reason why you shouldn’t get your regular wages. I want this picture and I can afford to pay for it. How much?”
Again Griffin shook his head.
“It isn’t for sale, Captain Townsend,” he declared. “I have given it to Esther. It is hers. Of course, if she wants to sell it, that is different. But I can’t. It isn’t mine.”
“Rubbish! There’s no reason why you should give it to anybody. And I don’t intend you shall. I’m going to buy it. That is settled.”
“No, sir, I’m afraid it isn’t settled—in that way. You can’t buy it from me.”
Foster Townsend’s brows drew together in the way which his niece recognized as a storm signal. She tried to avert the hurricane.
“It is mine, Uncle Foster,” she protested. “Don’t you see? It is mine now and it is going to be yours. I—”
“Hush! See here, young fellow, you’ve forgotten one thing, I guess. Maybe I don’t care to have Esther take presents from—” he paused, coughed and added gruffly, “from anybody. Perhaps I don’t.... Here, I tell you! If you won’t sell it to me, sell it to her. I’ll see that she gets the money to pay for it. Now, then, how much?”
Bob still smiled. His reply was just as good-natured, but also just as firm.