to Dolton. Well, I proved to him he might have one hundred and twenty-six
other ancestors besides Ebenezer and his wife."

"That must have jarred him some," was Ditmar's comment. "Great old man,
your father. I've talked to him--he's a regular historical society all by
himself. Well, there must be something in it, this family business. Now,
you can tell he comes from fine old American stock-he looks it."

Janet flushed. "A lot of good it does!" she exclaimed.

"I don't know," said Ditmar. "It's something to fall back on--a good
deal. And he hasn't got any of that nonsense in his head about labour
unions--he's a straight American. And you look the part," he added. "You
remind me--I never thought of it until now--you remind me of a picture of
Priscilla I saw once in a book of poems Longfellow's, you know. I'm not
much on literature, but I remember that, and I remember thinking she
could have me. Funny isn't it, that you should have come along? But
you've got more ginger than the woman in that picture. I'm the only man
that ever guessed it isn't that so?" he asked jealously.

"You're wonderful!" retorted Janet, daringly.

"You just bet I am, or I couldn't have landed you," he asserted. "You're
chock full of ginger, but it's been all corked up. You're so prim-so
Priscilla." He was immensely pleased with the adjective he had coined,
repeating it. "It's a great combination. When I think of it, I want to
shake you, to squeeze you until you scream."

"Then please don't think of it," she said.