Fosdick looked annoyed. “Oh, I say, Snow!” he cried. “That's too strong, altogether.”
“Not a mite. It's what you've had in the back of your head all along. I'm just helpin' it to come out of the front. Well, Al?”
The red spots were burning in the Speranza cheeks. He choked as he answered.
“No,” he cried fiercely. “Of course I haven't planned on any such thing. I don't know how rich she is. I don't care. I wish she was as poor as—as I am. I want HER, that's all. And she wants me. We don't either of us care about money. I wouldn't take a cent of your money, Mr. Fosdick. But I—I want Madeline and—and—I shall have her.”
“In spite of her parents, eh?”
“Yes. . . . I'm sorry to speak so, Mr. Fosdick, but it is true. We—we love each other. We—we've agreed to wait for each other, no matter—no matter if it is years and years. And as for the money and all that, if you disinherit her, or—or whatever it is they do—we don't care. I—I hope you will. I—she—”
Captain Zelotes' voice broke in upon the impassioned outburst.
“Steady, Al; steady, son,” he cautioned quietly. “I cal'late you've said enough. I don't think any more's necessary. You'd better go back to your desk now.”
“But, Grandfather, I want him to understand—”
“I guess likely he does. I should say you'd made it real plain. Go now, Al.”