The lank Chicago capitalist waved his
tufted chin beard dejectedly as he answered the Briton's casual
salutation. "I'm worried about the girls," he simply said. "They're
off on the lake, with the Marquis de Santa Marina and that French
chap, the Count de Roquefort. I don't more than half like it." The
hour was late, and the heavy father glued his eyes upon the darkened
window pane. "Is Madame Forbes with them?" murmured the Englishman.
"Oh, Lord, no!" simply said the Illinois capitalist. "The girls
are used to going out alone with their gentlemen friends, but I'm
afraid that these two damned useless foreigners will upset the boat
and drown my two girls. I wouldn't care a rap if they were alone.
But these Dago noblemen are no good--at least that's my experience.
I indorsed a draft for one of them that Mommer and the girls dragged
up to the house last year. Came back marked 'N. G.'--I wish to God
the girls wouldn't pick up these fellows."
Alan Hawke hazarded the inquiry "Why do you permit it?"
The Chicago pork jammer thrust his hand in his pockets and whistled
reflectively. "How the deuce can I help it?" he reflectively
answered, "Mother and the girls go in for high society. What'll you
have? You can talk French to this fellow. Now, order up the best
in the house," Alan Hawke laughed and charitably divided the hour
of long waiting with the simple-hearted old father.
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