“All right, I'm glad to hear you say so. But there's a little mite of truth here and there amongst the lies, I presume likely. For instance, you and this Fosdick girl have been—er—keepin' company?”
“Her name is Madeline—and we are engaged to be married.”
“Oh! Hum—I see—I see. And, bein' as the old lady—her mother, Mrs. Fosdick, I mean—hasn't suspected anything, or, at any rate, hasn't found out anything until now, yesterday, or whenever it was, I judge you have been meetin'—er—Madeline at places where there wasn't—well, too large a crowd. Eh?”
Albert hesitated and was, momentarily, a trifle embarrassed. But he recovered at once.
“I met her first at the drug store last summer,” he said defiantly. “Then I met her after that at the post office and at the hotel dance last fall, and so on. This year I met her—well, I met her first down by the beach, where I went to write. She liked poetry and—and she helped me with mine. After that she came—well, she came to help me again. And after that—after that—”
“After that it just moved along kind of natural, eh? Um-hm, I see.”
“Look here, Grandfather, I want you to understand that she is—is—by George, she is the cleanest, finest, best girl in the world. Don't you get the idea that—that she isn't. She came to meet me just because she was interested in my verse and wanted to help. It wasn't until the very last that we—that we found out we cared for each other.”
“All right, boy, all right. Go on, tell me the whole yarn, if you feel like it. I don't want to pry too much into your affairs, but, after all, I AM interested in those affairs, Al. Tell me as much as you can.”
“I'll tell you the whole. There's nothing I can't tell, nothing I'm not proud to tell. By George, I ought to be proud! Why, Grandfather, she's wonderful!”
“Sartin, son, sartin. They always are. I mean she is, of course. Heave ahead.”