“Oh! Hum--I see--I see. And, bein' as the old lady--her mother, Mrs. Fosdick, I mean--hasn't suspected anything, or, at any rate, hasn't found out anything until now, yesterday, or whenever it was, I judge you have been meetin'--er--Madeline at places where there wasn't--well, too large a crowd. Eh?” Albert hesitated and was, momentarily, a trifle embarrassed. But he recovered at once. “I met her first at the drug store last summer,” he said defiantly. “Then I met her after that at the post office and at the hotel dance last fall, and so on. This year I met her--well, I met her first down by the beach, where I went to write. She liked poetry and--and she helped me with mine. After that she came--well, she came to help me again. And after that--after that--” “After that it just moved along kind of natural, eh? Um-hm, I see.” “Look here, Grandfather, I want you to understand that she is--is--by George, she is the cleanest, finest, best girl in the world. Don't you get the idea that--that she isn't. She came to meet me just because she was interested in my verse and wanted to help. It wasn't until the very last that we--that we found out we cared for each other.” “All right, boy, all right. Go on, tell me the whole yarn, if you feel like it. I don't want to pry too much into your affairs, but, after all, I AM interested in those affairs, Al. Tell me as much as you can.” “I'll tell you the whole. There's nothing I can't tell, nothing I'm not proud to tell. By George, I ought to be proud! Why, Grandfather, she's wonderful!” “Sartin, son, sartin. They always are. I mean she is, of course. Heave ahead.” So Albert told his love story. When he had finished Captain Zelote's pipe was empty, and he put it down. “Albert,” he said slowly, “I judge you mean this thing seriously. You mean to marry her some day.” “Yes, indeed I do. And I won't give her up, either. Her mother--why, what right has her mother got to say--to treat her in this way? Or to call me what she calls me in that letter? Why, by George--” “Easy, son. As I understand it, this Madeline of yours is the only child the Fosdicks have got and when our only child is in danger of bein' carried off by somebody else--why, well, their mothers and fathers are liable to be just a little upset, especially if it comes on 'em sudden. . . . Nobody knows that better than I do,” he added slowly. Albert recognized the allusion, but he was not in the mood to be affected by it. He was not, just then, ready to make allowances for any one, particularly the parental Fosdicks. “They have no business to be upset--not like that, anyhow,” he declared. “What does that woman know about me? What right has she to say that I ensnared Madeline's affection and all that rot? Madeline and I fell in love with each other, just as other people have, I suppose.” “You suppose right,” observed Captain Zelotes, dryly. “Other people have--a good many of 'em since Adam's time.”