"Well, my dear," said Mr. Starkweather, and interrupted himself long enough to kiss her, "I'll say Henry's got a darned sight better judgment 'n _you_ have.... Go on and blush. Make a good job of it. Ashamed of yourself? So 'm I. Sit down there and cringe. You too, Henry." He himself remained on his feet. "Funny thing," he said, after a pause. "Only chance I ever had to get married myself was somethin' like this is--oh, _I_ wasn't a gilt loafer, like Henry is; I was workin' sixteen hours a day, but I wasn't makin' money enough. Both our fathers said so. And she'd have run off, but I wouldn't. Thought it wasn't respectable, I guess. Anyhow, it kind of petered out, and I lost my nerve. Wish to thunder I'd taken a chance when I had it. Worth it, sometimes." He whirled on Henry, abruptly. "Well, you took _your_ chance. Now let's see if you think it's worth it. If you're figurin' on any help from me, you got to work for it first. If you'd waited, I'd kind of made things easy for you. Now, I'm goin' to hand you the meanest job I can think of. It won't be an insult and it won't be a joke, but maybe you'll take it for both--until you learn better." "What is it, Uncle John?" "I'll tell you when you get back from your honeymoon." The two young people stared at each other, and at Mr. Starkweather. "From our--what?" asked the girl, incredulously. "Honeymoon. Oh, you made a couple of prize fools of yourselves, and if I did what I ought to, I'd cut Henry off sharp this minute. But--guess I better make a fool of _my_self, so you'll feel more at home." He coughed explosively. "Besides, you're awful young, both of you--and damn it, if you don't cash in on it now, next thing you know you'll be wonderin' where the time's gone, anyway. No sense in robbin' you of the best months of your life, just because you hadn't sense enough to rob your_selves_ of it--is there? Oh, I suppose I'm a kind of a sentimental cuss, but--must be I like the feelin' of it." He jerked his head toward Henry. "This is April. Take her off somewhere--Italy? South of France?--'till next August. Then you report back here, all fixed and ready to eat crow. Sound fair to you?" The girl rose, and crossed the room to him. "Mr. Starkweather--" "Name's Uncle John," he corrected. "You married it." "Uncle John--I--I don't know how to--" She bit her lip, and he saw the depths of her eyes, and saw that they were filling with tears. She gestured imperatively to Henry. "You know him better--_you_ tell him." Henry had sprung across to join them. "Uncle John, you're a peach! I'll break rock on the streets if you say so! You're a peach!"