“Eileen says, ‘Ugh-huh!’ daddy,” she put in roguishly.
Royce Pederstone held out his hand and gripped Phil’s, with a slightly tired smile.
“If my Eileen says, ‘Ugh-huh!’ my son, then ‘Ugh-huh!’ it is.”
Eileen threw her arms round her father’s neck and hugged him.
“I don’t know anything much about you, Ralston, but your record is clean since you came here––despite some attempts to blacken it. I like your face––and if you can make my motherless girl happy when I’m gone, you’ll have an old man’s blessing.
“If you don’t, though” (his blue eyes flashed temporary fire), “God help you! There have been more than one who wanted my Eileen, but I have told all of them that the choice of a man must be Eileen’s.
“By the way, Phil,––is it true what they say,––that the Langford-Ralston Company buy and sell for everybody but themselves?”
“Yes,––quite true!” answered Phil.
The old man laughed. “Doesn’t seem much like being very fond of their own cooking, Eileen.”
“One doesn’t have to eat what he cooks, daddy,––and somebody’s got to cook.”