I'd like to know what you think. Your judgment's generally worth
havin'."

Forced to reply without time for reflection, Miss Gulmore said as little
as possible with a great show of frankness:

"Oh, yes; he's smart, and knows Greek and Latin and German, and a great
many things. The senior students used to say he knew more than all the
other professors put together, and he--he thinks so too, I imagine," and
she laughed intentionally, for, on hearing her own strained laughter,
she blushed, and then stood up out of a nervous desire to conceal her
embarrassment. But her father was looking away from her at the glowing
end of his cigar; and, as she resumed her seat, he went on:

"I'm glad you seem to take no stock in him, Ida, for he's makin' himself
unpleasant. I'll have to give him a lesson, I reckon, not in Greek or
Latin or them things--I never had nothin' taught me beyond the 'Fourth
Reader,' in old Vermont, and I've forgotten some of what I learned then
--but in election work an' business I guess I ken give Professor Roberts
points, fifty in a hundred, every time. Did you know he's always around
with Lawyer Hutchin's?"

"Is he? That's because of May--May Hutchings. Oh, she deserves him;" the
girl spoke with sarcastic bitterness, "she gave herself trouble enough
to get him. It was just sickening the way she acted, blushing every time
he spoke to her, and looking up at him as if he were everything. Some
people have no pride in them."

Her father listened impassively, and, after a pause, began his
explanation: