"Or a good deal younger one, perhaps," suggested the Older Man
judicially. "But--but speaking of Miss Edgarton--" he began all over
again.

"Oh--drat Miss Edgarton!" snarled the Younger Man viciously. "You've
got Miss Edgarton on the brain! Miss Edgarton this! Miss Edgarton
that! Miss Edgarton! Who in blazes is Miss Edgarton, anyway?"

"Miss Edgarton? Miss Edgarton?" mused the Older Man thoughtfully. "Who
is she? Miss Edgarton? Why--no one special--except--just my daughter."

Like a fly plunged all unwittingly upon a sheet of sticky paper the
Younger Man's hands and feet seemed to shoot out suddenly in every
direction.

"Good Heavens!" he gasped. "Your daughter?" he mumbled. "Your
daughter?" Every other word or phrase in the English language seemed
to be stricken suddenly from his lips. "Your--your--daughter?" he
began all over again. "Why--I--I--didn't know your name was Edgarton!"
he managed finally to articulate.

An expression of ineffable triumph, and of triumph only, flickered in
the Older Man's face.

"Why, that's just what I've been saying," he reiterated amiably. "You
don't know anything!"

Fatuously the Younger Man rose to his feet, still struggling for
speech--any old speech--a sentence, a word, a cough, anything, in
fact, that would make a noise.