“That’s a great girl,” he said. “The only piece of property but one that I never wanted to part with. The other one was her mother. Johnnie came just in time to take her place, and I don’t know what I’d’ a’ done if she hadn’t. Being a mother to her kept me busy, and she’s been mother and father and whole family to me. She’s kept me going straight for about twenty-five years now, and is about the finest south-slope blue-grass addition that the Lord ever helped lay out. And she cares more for her old daddy than for anybody else in the world. Her old daddy and her pictures. She never saw a young man that she cared to look at twice, unless he could do something, and then it was for his talents, and not for him. When they fall in love with her she generally gets tired of their paintings, or their music, or whatever it is, and they go away. They all seem to do it, though. You’d be in love with her yourself in a week, if you lingered about this ship. It’s in the air, and everybody gets it. I wouldn’t say much about it, though, if it was me. If we should go to the South Pole, you’d want to stay with the expedition, and after we got out to sea you’d have some trouble getting ashore again in case you didn’t find the ship comfortable. There’s another young man that comes here. He’s got a scheme for——” But Miss Gale re-entered at that moment. She had made some slight changes in her toilet, and was more entrancing than ever. Her father had been right, I thought, only he had named too long a period. He had said “in a week.” His prophecy was already fulfilled. “I say, Johnnie,” greeted Gale, “why wouldn’t our wireless telegraphy scheme go well with this expedition, especially with the balloon part? How about that, Chase? Would it fit in?” “Perfectly, but Marconi seems to have it all in his own hands, as yet.” “Not by a jug-full! Johnnie’s got a young man, I was just going to mention him when she came in, a sort of portigee——” “_Protégé Papa!_ Though he’s not that, either. He’s——” “Oh, well, _protyshay_, then. Anyway, he’s got a system that beats Macarony’s to death. I call this chap Macarony, too, because he’s Italian, and his name is a good deal the same.” “His name is Ferratoni, Papa, and the other isn’t Macaroni, either, but Marconi. Papa never calls anything by its right name, if he can help it,” she apologized. “He gets into dreadful trouble sometimes, too, and I’m glad of it. He should be more particular.” “All right, then, it’s Ferry—Ferry what? How is it again, Johnnie?” “Fer-ra-toni.” “Now we’ve got it. Oh, well, let’s compromise and call him Tony, for short. Well, Tony’s got a system that does all that Macarony’s does, and goes it one better. Obstructions in the way don’t seem to make much difference, and you can use it with a telephone attachment instead of a—a what do you call it—a knocker?” “A sounder, Daddy.”