“As I said,” said the other, wincing still under the Tojin’s hand, “in any event you exaggerate the effect upon her. Just as you say—you are a man!”
He stood up abruptly.
“You will do it?” demanded the Tojin hoarsely.
“Yes,” said the other, blinking angrily, “I suppose I must.”
He glared for a moment at his friend and then for the first time permitted himself to show some emotion in his voice and expression:
“We’ll fight it out between us. Sight or no sight, I know you will be the same to her!”
“It is not alone my physical deformity,” said the Tojin, steadily, “but the fact that I am old enough to be her father. I have no longer the splendid courage of youth to take her in spite of my misfortune. ‘Old Grind,’ that was what they called me, even in America!”
“Stuff!” grunted the other. “‘Old Bones’ was the affectionate term applied to me. At this rate you’ll put us in our dotage. A man under forty is in his best youth. I never felt younger in my life!” he snorted indignantly.
“But she is only a child,” said the Tojin softly, “—a child in years—and in heart!”
“If you could see her,” said the other, with intense earnestness, “as I have had occasion to since last night, you would say differently. Child! why, man, she is a suffering, neglected, forsaken little woman! Open your door to her. Don’t let her think it as stony as your heart!”