"Why, it looks like a decoration, father," said Kathlyn. "What lovely
stones! It would make a beautiful pendant."

"Vanity, vanity, all is vanity," said the colonel, smiling down into
their charming faces. "Do you love your old dad?"

"Love you!" they exclaimed in unison, indignantly, too, since the
question was an imputation of the fact.

"Would you be lonesome if I took the Big Trek?" whimsically.

"Father!"

"Dad!"

They pressed about him, as vines about an oak.

"Hang it, I swear that this shall be the last hunt. I'm rich. We'll
get rid of all these brutes and spend the rest of the years seeing the
show places. I'm a bit tired myself of jungle fodder. We'll go to
Paris, and Berlin, and Rome, and Vienna. And you, Kit, shall go and
tell Rodin that you've inherited the spirit of Gerome. And you,
Winnie, shall make a stab at grand opera."

Winnie gurgled her delight, but her sister searched her father's eyes.
She did not quite like the way he said those words. His voice lacked
its usual heartiness and spontaneity.

"Where did you get this medal, father?" she asked.