"They were happy enough when they came to America. How they escaped the emigration authorities, I don't know. They make enough fuss about an old fogey like me, as if I had a harem up me sleeve. But still, when I found her they were still happy, and she was having dancing lessons, had made up her mind to go on the stage, and wouldn't hear of getting married. Seemed to think it was a kind of barbarous business, gettin' married. Said her mother had been married—and look what it had brought her to.
"She's fond of John, too," the old man continued. "But, at present, New York's a side-show, and she's enjoying it like a child on a holiday from the country. I've got her living with an old maid cousin of mine.... Sophie says by and by perhaps she'll marry John, but not yet—not now—she's having too good a time. She's got all the money she wants ... all the gaiety and admiration. It's not the sort of life I like for a woman myself ... but I've done my best, Michael."
There was something pathetic about the quiver which took the old face before him. Michael responded to it gratefully.
"You have that, I believe, Mr. Armitage," he said, "and I'm grateful to you.".
"Tell you the truth, Michael," he said, "I'm fond of her. I feel about her as if she were a piece of live opal—the best bit that fool of a son of mine ever brought from the Ridge...."
His face writhed as he got up from the sofa.
"But I must be going, Michael. Rouminof had a touch of the sun a while ago, they tell me. Never been quite himself since. Bad business that. Better go and have a look at him. Yes? Thanks, Michael; thanks. It's a God-damned business growing old, Michael. Never knew I had so many bones in me body."
Leaning heavily on his stick he hobbled to the door. Michael gave him his arm, and they went to Rouminof's hut.
Potch had told Paul of Dawe P. Armitage's arrival; that he had come to the Ridge to see the big opal, and was in Michael's hut. Paul had gone to bed, but was all eagerness to get up and go to see Mr. Armitage. He was sitting on his bed, weak and dishevelled-looking, shirt and trousers on, while Potch was hunting for his boots, when Michael and Mr. Armitage came into the room.
After he had asked Paul how he was, and had gossiped with him awhile, Mr. Armitage produced an illustrated magazine from one of the outer pockets of his overcoat.