Food, china, her dress, anything was apt to be brought back to its chemical constituents, and he would leave her to struggle with these dark suggestions of something else back of the superficial appearance of things until she was actually in awe of him. She had a way of showing him how nice she looked before she started to school in the morning, a habit that arose because of his constant criticism of her appearance. He wanted her to look smart, he insisted on a big bow of blue ribbon for her hair, he demanded that her shoes be changed from low quarter to high boots with the changing character of the seasons’ and that her clothing be carried out on a color scheme suited to her complexion and disposition. “That child’s light and gay by disposition. Don’t put anything somber on her,” he once remarked. Jennie had come to realize that he must be consulted in this, and would say, “Run to your papa and show him how you look.” Vesta would come and turn briskly around before him, saying, “See.” “Yes. You’re all right. Go on”; and on she would go. He grew so proud of her that on Sundays and some week-days when they drove he would always have her in between them. He insisted that Jennie send her to dancing-school, and Gerhardt was beside himself with rage and grief. “Such irreligion!” he complained to Jennie. “Such devil’s fol-de-rol. Now she goes to dance. What for? To make a no-good out of her—a creature to be ashamed of?” “Oh no, papa,” replied Jennie. “It isn’t as bad as that. This is an awful nice school. Lester says she has to go.” “Lester, Lester; that man! A fine lot he knows about what is good for a child. A card-player, a whisky-drinker!” “Now, hush, papa; I won’t have you talk like that,” Jennie would reply warmly. “He’s a good man, and you know it.” “Yes, yes, a good man. In some things, maybe. Not in this. No.” He went away groaning. When Lester was near he said nothing, and Vesta could wind him around her finger. “Oh you,” she would say, pulling at his arm or rubbing his grizzled cheek. There was no more fight in Gerhardt when Vesta did this. He lost control of himself—something welled up and choked his throat. “Yes, I know how you do,” he would exclaim. Vesta would tweak his ear. “Stop now!” he would say. “That is enough.” It was noticeable, however, that she did not have to stop unless she herself willed it. Gerhardt adored the child, and she could do anything with him; he was always her devoted servitor. CHAPTER XXXIX