"But he's a military man—he's the John H. Graham whose commission is before the Senate—now I hope you are satisfied!"
Henry Porter stopped his stamping about and looked at his daughter several seconds in silence.
"He's—he's who?" he asked in astonishment.
"He's the same John H. Graham you were reading about in the Post this morning—the man the President has appointed a lieutenant in the cavalry."
"But his name's not Graham."
"His name is Graham—John Hayward Graham—Lieutenant John Hayward Graham when the Senate confirms it."
Old Henry looked a little bit nonplussed. His daughter took courage. She jumped up and grabbed him.
"Come on right now and write him an apology, and send it so that it will get to his rooms by the time he does!"
Old Henry demurred. His dignity was a very real thing—as hard and substantial as his dollars.
"Oh, no, no. Wait awhile. Le's think about it. No use to be in a hurry. He'll come back agin. What did he go sneakin' roun' here without his name for if he wanted people to treat him right? A man's got no business monkeyin' with his name."