"I had forgotten my son was here. Phil, take these papers over to the county attorney's office. I'll call you later." He turned me out and gave his attention to Marjie.
I loafed about the outer office until she and my father came out. He led her to the doorway and down the steps with a courtesy he never forgot toward women. When we were alone in his private office I longed to ask Marjie's errand, but I knew my father too well.
"You wanted to see me, Phil?" He was seated opposite to me, his eyes were looking steadily into mine, and clear beyond them down into my soul.
"Yes, Father," I replied; "I am a man now—twenty-one years and one day over. And there are a few things, as a man, I want to know and to have you know."
He was sharpening a pencil carefully. "I'm listening," he said kindly.
"Well, Father—" I hesitated. It was so much harder to say than I had thought it would be. I toyed with the tassel of the window cord confusedly. "Father, you remember when you were twenty-one?"
"Yes, my son, I was just out of Harvard. And like you I had a father to whom I went to tell him I was in love, just as you are. When your own son comes to you some day, help him a little."
I felt a weight lifted from my mind. It was good of him to open the way.
"Father, I have never seen any other girl like Marjie."
"No, there isn't any—for you. But how about her?"