“I don't know of any younger man,” said Mr. Flint. “I don't mean to say I'm the only person in the world who can safeguard the stockholders' interests in the Northeastern. But I know the road and its problems. I don't understand this from you, Victoria. It doesn't sound like you. And as for letting go the helm now,” he added, with a short laugh tinged with bitterness, “I'd be posted all over the country as a coward.”
“Why?” asked Victoria, in the same quiet way.
“Why? Because a lot of discontented and disappointed people who have made failures of their lives are trying to give me as much trouble as they can.”
“Are you sure they are all disappointed and discontented, father?” she said.
“What,” exclaimed Mr. Flint, “you ask me that question? You, my own daughter, about people who are trying to make me out a rascal!”
“I don't think they are trying to make you out a rascal—at least most of them are not,” said Victoria. “I don't think the—what you might call the personal aspect enters in with the honest ones.”
Mr. Flint was inexpressibly amazed. He drew a long breath.
“Who are the honest ones?” he cried. “Do you mean to say that you, my own daughter, are defending these charlatans?”
“Listen, father,” said Victoria. “I didn't mean to worry you, I didn't mean to bring up that subject to-day. Come—let's go for a walk and see the new barn.”
But Mr. Flint remained firmly planted on the bench.