“Oh, if only you could have been there, papa!”
She saw that he was pleased. He bade her ring for the maid to bring up their breakfast; he wanted to know all about the exercises at the Settlement House.
“I guess you made a hit all right,” he said proudly, after making her read the account aloud. “I never liked your sayin’ pieces in public; but I guess if you can tickle a crowd like that I ain’t got any right to kick.”
The reporter had built his story around her; and had done full justice to her part in the surprise of the evening. Her recitations were praised extravagantly as worthy of a professional; “it is unfortunate,” ran the article, “that Miss Farley’s elocutionary talents are so rarely displayed in public.”
It was compensation for much greater catastrophes than the loss of Billy Copeland to find Farley so pleased.
“It’s kind o’ nice to do things like that—to do things for people,” Farley remarked wistfully, after subjecting Nan to a prolonged cross-examination. “I’m sorry now I didn’t tell you about that swimmin’ pool. You’ve got a mighty kind heart, Nan. I used to think I wouldn’t make any will, but let what I’ve got go to you, and leave it to you to help some of these schemes for the poor. You know you’ve worried me sometimes—we won’t talk about that any more; I guess it’s all over now.”
The questioning look he bent upon her gave her conscience a twinge. If Billy hadn’t become embroiled with the police she would not be listening to Farley’s praise!
“Yes, papa; it’s all over,” she replied softly, and bent down and kissed him.
When later she called Copeland on the telephone it was to laugh at their misadventure—it seemed safer to make light of it.
“Please forget all about it, Billy. It wasn’t my fault or yours either; it was all wrong any way. No—”