“Oh, you have? Good! Then you can sympathize with Mrs. Fosdick and with me. You see—you understand why we had rather our daughter did not marry your grandson.”
“Sartin. You see, I've had just the same sort of general kind of objection to Al's marryin' your daughter.”
Mr. Fletcher Fosdick leaned slowly backward in his chair. His appearance was suggestive of one who has received an unexpected thump between the eyes.
“Oh, you have!” he said again, but not with the same expression.
“Um-hm,” said Captain Zelotes gravely. “I'm like you in one way; I've never met your Madeline any more than you have met Al. I've seen her once or twice, and she is real pretty and nice-lookin'. But I don't know her at all. Now I don't doubt for a minute but that she's a real nice girl and it might be that she'd make Al a fairly good wife.”
“Er—well,—thanks.”
“Oh, that's all right, I mean it. It might be she would. And I ain't got a thing against you or your folks.”
“Humph,—er—thanks again.”
“That's all right; you don't need to thank me. But it's this way with me—I live in South Harniss all the year round. I want to live here till I die, and—after I die I'd like first-rate to have Al take up the Z. Snow and Co. business and the Snow house and land and keep them goin' till HE dies. Mind, I ain't at all sure that he'll do it, or be capable of doin' it, but that's what I'd like. Now you're in New York most of the year, and so's your wife and daughter. New York is all right—I ain't sayin' a word against it—but New York and South Harniss are different.”
The Fosdick lip twitched. “Somewhat different,” he admitted.