She felt immensely relieved. She did not
realize that every doer of a mean act always has an excellent
excuse for it.
``Then afterwards,'' the old man went on, ``the family was
getting along so well--the boy was working steady and making good
money and pushing ahead--and I was afeared I'd do harm instead of
good. It's mighty dangerous, Jen, to give money sudden to folks
that ain't used to it. I've seen many a smash-up come that way.
And your ma--she thought so, too--kind of.''
The ``kind of'' was advanced hesitatingly, with an apologetic
side glance at the big crayon portrait. But Jane was entirely
convinced. She was average human; therefore, she believed what
she wished to believe.
``You were quite right, father,'' said she. ``I knew you
couldn't do a bad thing--wouldn't deliberately strike at weak,
helpless people. And now, it can be straightened out and the
Dorns will be all the better for not having been tempted in the
days when it might have ruined them.''
She had walked round where her father could see her, as she
delivered herself of this speech so redolent of the fumes of
collegiate smugness. He proceeded to examine her--with an
expression of growing dissatisfaction. Said he fretfully:
``You don't calculate to go out, looking like that?''
``Out to the swellest blow-out of the year, popsy,'' said she.
The big heavy looking head wobbled about uneasily. ``You look
too much like your old pappy's daughter,'' said he.
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