"
"Bonbright?"
"And Ruth."
"Huh! ..." Lightener's grunt seemed to say that it was nothing but
what he expected. "Well--go ahead."
Hilda went ahead. Her father punctuated her story with sundry grunts,
her mother with exclamations of astonishment and sorrow. Hilda told
the whole story from the beginning, and when she was done she said:
"There it is. You wouldn't believe it. And, dad, Bonbright Foote's an
angel. A regular angel with wings."
"Sometimes it's mighty hard to tell the difference between an angel
and a damn fool," said Lightener. "I suppose you want me to mix into
it. Well, I won't."
"You haven't been asked," said Hilda. "I'm doing the mixing for this
family. I just came to tell you I am going to stay all night with
Ruth--and to warn you not to mix in. You'd do it with a sledge
hammer. I don't suppose it's any use telling you to keep your hands
off--for you won't. But I wish you would."
"You'll get your wish," he said.
"I won't," she answered.
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