The ole man dropped into a chair and begun t' laugh. (Could laugh now, thinkin' it was all up 'twixt Mace and me.) "Haw! haw! haw!" he started off, slappin' one knee. "Mister Cupid cain't do nothin' fer hisself!" Then he laid back and just _hollered,_ slingin' out his laig with ev'ry cackle; and pawin' the air fin'lly, he got so short-winded. "Aw, lawdy!" he yelled; "aw--I'll _bust_. Mister _Cupid! Whew!_" I got hot. "You found a he-he's aig in a haw-haw's nest," I begun. "Wal, I'll say back to you what you oncet said to me: _Just wait._" Then I faced Macie. "All right, little gal," I says to her, "I s'pose you know best. Pack you' duds and go East--and sing on the stage in Noo York." The ole man 'd stopped laughin' t' listen. Now he sit up straight, a hand on each arm of the chair, knees spread, mouth wider open 'n ever, eyes plumb crossed. "Go East!" he repeats, "--sing!--stage!--Noo York!" Mace showed her sand, all right. "Yas," she answers; "you got it _exac'ly_ right, paw--Noo York." He riz up, face as white as anythin' so sunbaked can look. "Git that crazy idear outen you' brain this _minute!_" he begun. "I won't allow you t' stir a _step!_ The stage! Lawd a-mighty! Why, _you_ ain't got no voice fer the stage. You can only squawk." It was mighty pretty t' see 'em--father and daughter--standin' out agin each other. Alike in temper as two peas, y' savvy. And I knowed somethin' was shore goin' to pop. "Squawk!" repeats Mace. (_That_ was the finishin' touch.) "I'll just show you! Some day when my voice's made me famous, you'll be sorry fer that. And you, too, Alec Lloyd, if you _do_ think my voice is all taffy. I'll show you _both!_" "Wal," Sewell come back, "you don't use none of _my_ money fer t' make you' show." He was pretty nigh screechin'. "Wait till I _ast_ you fer it," she says, pert haid up again. "_Keep_ you' money. I can earn my own. _I_ ain't scairt of work." And just like she was, in the little, white dress she used t' meet me in--she up and walked out! Now, it was the ole man's turn t' walk the floor. "Noo York!" he begun, his eyes dartin' fire. "Did y' ever _hear_ such a blamed fool proposition! Doc Simpson is _re_sponsible fer that." "It's been goin' on fer quite a spell," I says. "But I didn't know how far till just afore you come in. Simpson, a-course, is the man." That second, _clickety_--_clickety_--_clickety_--_click!_--a hoss was a-passin' the house on the dead run. We both looked. It was that bald-faced bronc of Macie's, makin' fer the gate like a streak of lightnin'. And the little gal was in the saddle. "She's goin', boss," I says. (The bald-face was haided towards Briggs.) "_Let_ her go," says Sewell. "Let her ride off her mad." "Boss," I says, "I'm t' blame fer this kick-up. Yas, I am." And _I_ begun t' walk the floor.