Mary took the photograph and studied it with interest. Mr. Smith, senior, was a big man, broad-shouldered and heavy, with a full gray beard and mustache. He wore a broad-brimmed hat, which shaded his forehead somewhat, but his eyes and the shape of his nose were like his son's. Mary looked at the photograph and Crawford looked at her. “Well, what do you think of him?” asked the young man after an interval. “Think?” repeated Mary absently, still staring at the photograph. “Why, I--I don't know what you mean.” “I mean what is your opinion of my respected dad? You must have one by this time. You generally have one on most subjects and you've been looking at that picture for at least five minutes.” “Have I? I beg your pardon; I didn't realize. The picture interested me. I have never seen your father, have I? No, of course I haven't. But it almost seems as if I had. Perhaps I have seen someone who looks like him.” “Shouldn't wonder. Myself, for instance.” “Of course. That was stupid of me, wasn't it? He looks like an interesting man, one who has had experiences.” “He has. Dad doesn't talk about himself much, even to me, but he had some hard rubs before he reached the smooth places. Had to fight his way, I guess.” “He looks as if he had. But he got his way in the end, I should imagine. He doesn't look like one who gives up easily.” “He isn't. Pretty stubborn sometimes, Dad is, but a brick to me, just the same.” “Was your mother an Eastern woman?” “No. She was a Westerner, from California. Dad was married twice. His first wife came from New England somewhere, I believe. I didn't know there had been another wife until I was nearly fifteen years old, and then I found it out entirely by accident. She was buried in another town, you see. I saw her name first on the gravestone and it made an impression on me because it was so odd and old-fashioned--'Patience, wife of Edwin Smith.' I only mention this to show you how little Dad talks about himself, but it was odd I should find it out that way, wasn't it? But there! I don't suppose you're interested in the Smith genealogy. I apologize. I never think of discussing my family affairs with anyone but you, not even Sam. But you--well, somehow I seem to tell you everything. I wonder why?” “Perhaps because I ask too many questions.” “No, it isn't that. It is because you act as if you really cared to have me talk about my own affairs. I never met a girl before that did. Now, I want to ask you about that club business. There's going to be the deuce and all to pay in that if I'm not careful. Have you thought it over? What would you do if you were I?”