There was a pause. Benjamin Wright was reminding himself that in
handling a boy, one must be careful not to Say the wrong thing; one
must express one's self with reserve and delicacy; one must weigh
one's words--boys were such jackasses.
"Well;" he said, "got over your fool falling in love with a female old
enough to be your mother?"
Sam looked at him.
"I hope your trip has put sense into you on that subject, anyhow?"
"I love Mrs. Richie as much as I ever did, if that's what you mean,
sir," Sam said listlessly.
Upon which his grandfather flew into instant rage. "As much in love as
ever! Gad-a-mercy! Well; I give you up, sir, I give you up. I spend my
money to get you out of this place, away from this female, old enough
to be your grandmother, and you come back and say you are as much in
love with her as ever. I swear, I don't believe you have a drop of my
blood in you!" He flung his cigar away, and plunged his hand down into
the ginger-jar on the bench beside him; "A little boy like you, just
in breeches! Why, your mother ought to put you over her knee, and--"
he stopped. "You have no sense, Sam," he added with startling
mildness.
But Sam's face was as red as his grandfather's. "She is only ten years
older than I. That is nothing. Nothing at all. If she will overlook my
comparative youth and marry me, I--"
"Damnation!" his grandfather screamed.
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