But Hazel had quickly pressed one hand over his lips and stifled the possibilities he was about to enumerate.
Gordon laughed, and his father smiled over at the other father.
"See, Mr. Mallinsbee, we don't need to worry with the summer," Gordon cried. "Summer generally fixes things right for itself. Meanwhile we'll just make the winter as easy as we can. You've given your little girl to me, and she's all you care for in the world. Well, that's a trust that demands all the best I can give. I won't fail you. I won't fail her. And you, Dad, I won't fail you."
"Good boy," said the millionaire, with a glow of pride. "I just know it, and—I know it for Mr. Mallinsbee and Hazel, too, if they don't know it for themselves. Say——"
For a moment his eyes grew serious. Then into them crept a gleam of twinkling humor which found reflection on the faces of both Gordon and Hazel, who waited for him to complete what he had to say.
"You've told your mother, Gordon?" he inquired. "Seems to me you've told her 'most everything in those—chatty—letters of yours."
Gordon grinned and shook his head, while Hazel waited—not without some apprehension. His father's smile gave way to a quaint expression of awe at such negligence.
"I'd say she'd be pleased, of course," the millionaire said, without conviction. "It's a mercy not always bestowed on a boy to get a wife like—Hazel. Your mother's a mighty good woman, Gordon, and I'll allow she's got her ways about things. But she's good, and I guess she'll just take to Hazel right away."
There was no confidence in his manner, in spite of the bravery of his words. But Gordon quickly cleared the atmosphere with his cheery confidence.
"You leave the dear old mater to me, Dad," he cried. "You see, you only married her—she raised me. I'll write her to-night, and—say, that reminds me," he added, glancing at his watch. "Daylight'll be around directly. Hazel needs her rest. Hadn't we——"