“And after that,” smiled her father, “she took him as a pupil and taught him English.” “Did he pay her?” “I’m afraid not. She loves him too much.” Jean tossed her head. “I’ll say the Little Pine owes me thirty dollars.” “How old is he?” “Almost fifteen. Some day or other he is going to be a doctor, and when he has grown very rich, I shall send him a bill for those lessons.” With that remark, of which she did not mean one single word, she whisked away the dishes and presently returned with a shortcake. Marvin watched her cut it. Very slowly her sharp knife descended through the fruit and crust, and each wedge came away without spilling one drop of its pure red. “You are very deft.” “So are you. I was going to cut up your perch for you, but I saw that you didn’t need me.” Marvin soberly began to eat his shortcake. “Miss Jean, your hands do so many beautiful things that they ought to be worth a great deal of money. But I have only one hand, whether to do things with or to offer in marriage. I have a proposal to make to you.” Dr. Rich glanced up in alarm, but Marvin went on calmly. “I can’t wash my own hand. Please consider a proposition to wash it for me every day. I am willing to pay a dollar a wash. Don’t you think I ought, doctor?” “Marvin, I do not. I enjoy your fun, but pray don’t carry it too far.” “But haven’t you noticed how enterprising your daughter is getting to be? She is going to collect bills of Indians, and after dinner she is going to take my last cent. I don’t even dare to ask her the time of the day without adding, ‘How much?’” The doctor smiled. “When you find the answer to that question, I wish you’d let me know. The value of the time of day is often infinite. So is that of commercial rectitude. How honest ought a man to be? He ought to be infinitely honest. Of course he can’t be, but he ought to be. So if you young folks are about to consider your infinite obligations to each other, I think I’ll go and take a nap.” They rose while he left the room, and then sat down again. “He gets so tired. He is nearly seventy-four, you know.” “Is it possible?” “Yes, he was born in ’46. He still has keen vision and hearing, but it breaks my heart to see him losing his resistance.” “Losing resistance? Please don’t vex your soul with any such notion. All he needs is an audience to talk to. Coming down the path he got started about grain, and if there is a live subject in the year 1919, it’s grain. I think we ought to draw him out on that subject. In fact I’d like to see him invited down to my old college to talk about it. What your father needs is a little light of publicity once more.” Chapter 35. Bromine She rose and brought him some coffee, and as he sipped it he proceeded to business. “If I am to be infinitely honest, I must begin by inquiring whether I have enough money to settle my dinner check. Were those the berries he picked this morning?” “Yes.”