“When I think of how he behaved after Mr. Baxter went away, and the things he said to Oliver when Oliver refused to help pay for the monument his uncle had erected on his own cemetery lot up at Hopkinsville, because Mr. Baxter’s sister was buried there—his own wife, if you please, Daddy—well, when I think of it I nearly choke. I won’t allow you to say I sha’n’t hate him. I just adore hating him and I—” “My dear, I had no intention of saying you shouldn’t hate Mr. Gooch,” broke in her father. “I was merely trying to say that you must not speak so loud. Some one outside the family circle is likely to hear you.” “I’ve always said you were a corking preacher, Uncle Herbert,” announced Oliver. “Thank you,” with the lift of an eyebrow. “No doubt I have improved somewhat with age.” “I’d give a lot to know just what you said to old Gooch, Oliver, when he came to see you about the monument last fall,” said Jane, invitingly. “I was mighty careful, I remember, to see that there were no ladies present at the time,” chuckled Oliver. “And besides, I’ve been trying ever since to forget what I said to him. But it’s absolutely impossible, with Uncle Joe dropping in every day or so to remind me of it.” “I hope Mr. Gooch hasn’t been allowed to forget it.” “Jane, my dear, you really are becoming quite a vixen,” remonstrated her father. An automobile came to a sudden stop in front of the house, and an agile young man leaped out, leaving his engine running. He came up the walk with long strides. “Say, Oliver, you old skate, I’ve been looking all over town for you,” shouted Sammy Parr. “This isn’t your night to call on Jane—don’t you know that? You’re supposed to be either at the Scotts’, billing with Amy Scott, or at the Ridges’, cooing with that new girl from Boston, and listening to her talk about Harvard all the time. Say, I’ve been over to Pleasant Ridge this afternoon—good evening, Jane—to see Mrs. Bannester and her sister about some fire insurance—Evening, Mr. Sage. Nice evening—And, say, they told me all about you, you blamed old skate—I mean Ollie, not you, Mr. Sage. Gee whiz, Ollie, you certainly did throw the hooks into Uncle Horace this time, didn’t you? You certainly—” “Shut up!” growled Oliver, scowling fiercely at the excited Sammy. “Shut up? Why should I shut up? Why the hell should I—beg pardon, Mr. Sage—excuse my slippery tongue. My Lord, boy, the boom has already been started. You can’t head it off. I didn’t lose a minute getting over to the County Chairman’s office and telling him the whole story. The boom’s on! He nearly hit the ceiling for joy. My God, if we can only keep all this quiet till after the Democratic convention—and old Gooch is nominated—we’ll spring something—Gee whiz! Listen to me barking loud enough to be heard in Hopkinsville. Fine guy, I am, to talk about keeping it quiet. Say, we’ve got to talk in whispers from now on—whispers, see?”