"Many, many thanks, little one," he said.
"—and sometimes you must use them. In those days, didn't you honestly care what became of me? Didn't you think about that at all?"
"You can bet I did," he said. "Didn't I make it fairly clear what I wanted to become of you?"
I wondered whether I could go on. But I felt as if I must—because here was something that is one of the big puzzles of the world.
"But after?" I said. "After?"
He shrugged.
"I wasn't borrowing trouble, you understand?" he said.
"No," I told him. "No. You were just piling it up for me—that was all. Now see here: In these five years I've had school as I wanted to have then. I know more. I'm better worth while. I'm better able to take my place among human beings. I've begun to grow—as people were meant to grow. Truly—were you willing to take away from me every chance of that—and perhaps to see me thrown on the scrap-heap—just to get what you wanted?"
He looked at me, and then around his table, where his wife's twenty guests were sitting—well-bred, charming folk, all of them.