"Sure. D’you think I’d let any young jackanapes take you entirely away? You tell him I’ll scalp him if he talks that kind of thing to you." ... He laughed harshly. "But I’m a fool, Chrissy; you and I are talking foolish.... You won’t come back to stay. You won’t want to." "I will!" "No, dear; you don’t know yet.... Your mother and I made our own home. It was a rough one, Chrissy, but it was ours. You’ll do the same ultimately. It’s part of the game.... Tell your young man to come here." The girl slipped away; in a few moments Inwood knocked and entered. Mr. Rivett gave him a level and murderous look. "How about that complication you got yourself into?" he asked harshly. Inwood turned scarlet. "I’m out of it." "With honor?" "Honorably." "What was it?" "You don’t mean to ask me that?" "Yes, I do! ... But I didn’t expect an answer.... Can you support my little girl decently?" "Decently." "Not in the style to which I have accustomed her?" "No, sir." "All right," he snapped. After a silence the young fellow said: "Do you disapprove of me?" "How the devil can I? I don’t know you. If you make my little girl a good husband, I’ll love you like a son; if you don’t, I’ll—kill you. You _look_ all right; but there’s no use talking.... You show me what stuff you’re made of, and I’ll do my part." "All right," said Inwood, smiling. Something in his smile interested Rivett. "Was your mother a Lawrence?" he demanded suddenly. "She was born Elizabeth Lawrence." "Betty Lawrence," he repeated, staring at the younger man. "Did you know her?" asked Inwood. "I taught her in school.... Betty Lawrence.... Only two people ever smiled like that—you and your mother.... You have good blood in you, Inwood.... I know your father—in Wall Street. We are on good terms.... Don’t ever be a fool again, will you?" "No, sir." They shook hands seriously. As Inwood left, Dineen came in. Rivett looked at Dineen without speaking for a full minute, then he said slowly: "My daughter is going to be married." "God bless my soul!" ejaculated the big Irishman—"not _that_ child!" "Yes; I guess she means business, John." "When?—in the name of the saints!" "When she’s ready, I presume.... She’s a good girl.... They’re good children. They’ve stayed as long as they could. Their time is nearly up.... But the smallest hut is a big barn when the children have taken wing.... I wish I could have seen more of my father and mother.... But I had to go out into a lean world and hunt a living." "The best of us have passed that way," observed Dineen; and, after a moment: "Who’s the lucky divil, Jacob?" "Young Inwood." "Stuart Inwood’s boy?" "That’s the one." Dineen lit a cigar and, drawing it into vaporous action, ruminated with enormous thumbs joined.