“It’s not so!” he snorted. “I never saw a finer specimen of American manhood in my life, strong-limbed, clean-cut, clear-eyed, every inch a man and not a suffragette. It’s not so. You’re putting up a job on me, Virginia—”
John Vassar smiled and bowed.
“For the high compliment you pay me, Mr. Holland, I forgive the hard words. I understand how the old boys feel who fought to make this country what it is today. And I love you for it. I don’t mind what you say—I know where to find your kind when the hour of trial comes—”
“You are Congressman Vassar?” the old man gasped.
“Guilty!”
The mother joined in the laugh at his expense.
Holland extended his hand again and grasped Vassar’s.
“I have no friends in this house, sir! We make up. I apologize to Poland for your sake. If they’ve got any more like you, let ’em come on. But mind you—” he lifted his finger in protest—“I stand by every word I said about the other fellows—every word!”
“I understand!” Vassar responded cheerfully.
“That will do now, Frank,” Mrs. Holland softly murmured.