"They all fawned on me in Boston!" he panted. "They ran about under foot! They bought my pictures! And they made me sick! I came out here to be rid of 'em!"
I rose from the grass, pale and determined.
"You listen to me, you old grouch!" I hissed. "I'll go. But before I go I'll tell you why I've been civil to you. There's only one reason in the world: I want to marry your daughter! And I'm going to do it!"
I stepped nearer him, menacing him with outstretched hand:
"As for you, you pitiable old dodo, with your bad manners and your worse pictures, and your degraded mania for prunes, you are a necessary evil that's all, and I haven't the slightest respect for either you or your art!"
"Is that true?" he said in an altered voice.
"True?" I laughed bitterly. "Of course it's true, you miserable dauber!"
"D-dauber!" he stammered.
"Certainly! I said 'dauber,' and I mean it. Why, your work would shame the pictures on a child's slate!"
"Smith," he said unsteadily, "I believe I have utterly misjudged you. I believe you are a good deal of a man, after all—"