``I can afford to,'' replied she.
The head shook positively. ``You ma wouldn't 'a liked it. She
was mighty partic'lar how she dressed.''
Jane laughed gayly. ``Why, when did you become a critic of
women's dress?'' cried she.
``I always used to buy yer ma dresses and hats when I went to the
city,'' said he. ``And she looked as good as the best--not for
these days, but for them times.'' He looked critically at the
portrait. ``I bought them clothes and awful dear they seemed to
me.'' His glance returned to his daughter. ``Go get yourself up
proper,'' said he, between request and command. ``SHE wouldn't
'a liked it.''
Jane gazed at the common old crayon, suddenly flung her arms
round the old man's neck. ``Yes-- father,'' she murmured. ``To
please HER.''
She fled; the old man wiped his eyes, blew his nose and resumed
the careful smoking of the cheap, smelly cigar. He said he
preferred that brand of his days of poverty; and it was probably
true, as he would refuse better cigars offered him by fastidious
men who hoped to save themselves from the horrors of his. He
waited restlessly, though it was long past his bedtime; he yawned
and pretended to listen while Davy Hull, who had called for Jane
in the Hull brougham, tried to make a favorable impression upon
him. At last Jane reappeared-- and certainly Letitia Hastings
would have been more than satisfied.
``Sorry to keep you waiting,'' said she to Hull, who was
speechless and tremulous before her voluptuous radiance.
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