“We aren't getting very far this way, Captain,” observed the visitor. “There's no use dodging, I suppose. I, for one, am not very well pleased. Mrs. Fosdick, for another, isn't pleased at all; she is absolutely and entirely opposed to the whole affair. She won't hear of it, that's all, and she said so much that I thought perhaps I had better come down here at once, see you, and--and the young fellow with the queer name--” “My grandson.” “Why yes. He is your grandson, isn't he? I beg your pardon.” “That's all right. I shan't fight with you because you don't like his name. Go ahead. You decided to come and see him--and me--?” “Yes, I did. I decided to come because it has been my experience that a frank, straight talk is better, in cases like this, than a hundred letters. And that the time to talk was now, before matters between the young foo--the young people went any further. Don't you agree with me?” Captain Zelotes nodded. “That now is a good time to talk? Yes, I do,” he said. “Good! Then suppose we talk.” “All right.” There was another interval of silence. Then Fosdick broke it with a chuckle. “And I'm the one to do the talking, eh?” he said. Captain Lote's eye twinkled. “We-ll, you came all the way from New York on purpose, you know,” he observed. Then he added: “But there, Mr. Fosdick, I don't want you to think I ain't polite or won't talk, myself. I'll do my share when the time comes. But it does seem to me that you ought to do yours first as it's your family so far that's done the objectin'. . . . Your cigar's gone out. Have another light, won't you?” The visitor shook his head. “No, thank you, not now,” he said hastily, placing the defunct cigar carefully on the captain's desk. “I won't smoke for the minute. So you want me to begin the talking, do you? It seems to me I have begun it. I told you that I do not like the idea of my daughter's being engaged to--to say nothing of marrying--your grandson. My wife likes it even less than I do. That is enough of a statement to begin with, isn't it?” “Why, no, not exactly, if you'll excuse my sayin' so. Your daughter herself--how does she feel about it?” “Oh, she is enthusiastic, naturally. She appears to be suffering from temporary insanity on the subject.” “She don't seem to think it's quite as--er--preposterous, and ridiculous and outrageous--and Lord knows what all--as your wife does, eh?” “No. I say, Snow, I hope you're not too deeply offended by what my wife wrote you. I judge you are quoting from her letter and apparently she piled it on red-hot. You'll have to excuse her; she was almost wild all day yesterday. I'll ask your pardon on her behalf.” “Sho, sho! No need, Mr. Fosdick, no need at all. I know what women are, even the easy-goin' kind, when they've got steam up. I've got a wife--and I had a daughter. But, gettin' back on the course again, you think your daughter's crazy because she wants to marry my grandson. Is that it?”