"
Bailey plied the handkerchief on his streaming forehead. The heat of
the day and the horror of this conversation were reducing his weight at
the rate of ounces a minute. In his most jaundiced mood he had never
imagined these frightful sentiments to be lurking in Ruth's mind.
"You can't mean that!" he cried.
"I mean every word of it," said Ruth. "I hope, for your sake, he won't
turn out to be a waiter or a prize-fighter, but it won't make any
difference to me."
"You're crazy!"
"Well, just now you said Aunt Lora was. If she is, I am."
"I knew it! I said she had been putting these ghastly ideas into your
head. I'd like to strangle that woman."
"Don't you try! Have you ever felt Aunt Lora's biceps? It's like a
man's. She does dumb-bells every morning."
"I've a good mind to speak to father. Somebody's got to make you stop
this insanity."
"Just as you please. But you know how father hates to be worried about
things that don't concern business."
Bailey did. His father, of whom he stood in the greatest awe, was very
little interested in any subject except the financial affairs of the
firm of Bannister & Son. It required greater courage than Bailey
possessed to place this matter before him. He had an uneasy feeling
that Ruth knew it.
"I would, if it were necessary," he said. "But I don't believe you're
serious.
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