“You forget,” shivered Nancy; “I am the daughter of the man you called”—
“Is that fair—to bring that up now?”
“You mustn't deceive yourself. There are some things that can't be forgotten.”
“How did I know what I was saying? A man isn't always responsible.”
“I heard you,” said Nancy. “There are things we say when we are raging mad at a person, and there are things we say when we think them the dirt under our feet. You kept him down with your dirt-shovel, and you called him—what I can't ever forget.”
“And is this the only hitch between us?”
“I should think it was enough. Who despises my father despises me.”
“But I do not despise him,” Travis did not scruple to assert. “The quarrel was not mine; and I'm not a ditch-man any longer. I will apologize to your father.”
“Oh, I know it costs you nothing to apologize. You don't mind father—an old man like him! You'd take him in, and give him his meals, and pat him on the head as you would the house-dog that bites because he's old and cross. Well, I'll let you know I don't want you to forgive him, and apologize, and all that stuff. I want you to get even with him.”
“Be satisfied,” said Travis. “The only count I have against your father is through his daughter. There is no way for me to get even with you. And when you have spoiled a man's life just for one angry word”—