“It went powerfully against the grain, but I had to,” the banker said, gruffly. “I was in for making a beeline back home without having to swallow that dose, but Fred wouldn't hear to it. He said the old skunk would feel hurt. I didn't care a dad-dratted cent whether he felt hurt or not; in fact, I felt hurt to have him dragged in at all. I'm glad the boy has landed in such a pile of clover, but I don't like Whipple any too much, and I reckon that dang sign of his was my Belshazzar's warning on the wall. But it is this way--well, you know what I mean. I reckon a body can look at it from any direction--level, sink, or angle--and the fact will still stick out that the boy is divided, and will have to remain divided from now on. That ain't usual, Toby; it is crooked. It sort o' gives the lie to my success as a father. I won't go into it any further. The whole thing out there, though, would have gone off smooth enough if that old cuss hadn't been in it. He had a slobbery way of talking to Fred, and put his hands on him every chance he got. They asked me out to dinner at Whipple's house to meet the old woman, but I drew the line at that. I was sure she'd act the fool as bad, or worse, than Whipple had, and so I wouldn't go. I never was mushy in that way myself, and I can't stomach them that are. Whipple is going to leave him all he's got, and I want Fred to get all he can of the good things in life, but I'll be dad-blamed if I wanted 'em to come exactly that way. “Whipple set there in his office and made out a list of his possessions, and it looked to me like he was making everything look as big as he could out of pure spite. Not once did he say--Toby, he didn't say a single time that I had _any_ sort of justification in pinning down on the boy like I did. He might have done it, but he didn't. He always cocked himself up and talked in a roundabout, sneaking fashion, like he was giving underhanded digs. Toby, I want the boy back here, that's all. I want him back here in the bank to take my place after I'm gone. I don't think I could stand it to be beat to a cold, dead finish by that old chump in a fight of exactly this kind. Whipple said Fred could sort o' play between the two places--stay awhile here and awhile there, but I want to tie him down good and tight to old Stafford. I've got an idea how to do it, Toby, and it ain't a bad one.” “What is it, Mr. Walton?” the clerk asked, eagerly. “Why, Toby, I ain't much at match-making, but I am going to try my hand at the game. Now, if I could only persuade Margaret Dearing to be sensible, like most women always have been in regard to the early slips of the men they marry--if I could persuade her to overlook the only thing that now remains against the boy--” “They would get married, and both would prefer to live here!” Toby broke in, eagerly. “That's the point, Toby,” Walton said. “You've hit it. Now drive me home.” CHAPTER XVIII