"Look at me, Auntie Sue," he said; "look straight through me, just as
you used to do years and years ago, and tell me what you see."
And the dear old lady, with one thin soft hand on his heavy shoulder,
answered, as she looked: "Why, I see a rather naughty boy, whom I ought
to spank for throwing spitballs at the old schoolroom ceiling," she
retorted. "And I am not a bit afraid to do it either. So sit right over
there, sir, and listen to me."
They laughed together then; and if Auntie Sue wiped her eyes as the
schoolboy obediently took his seat in the big chair at the banker's
desk, Homer T. Ward's eyes were not without a suspicious moisture.
"Tell me about Betty Jo first," the man insisted. "You know, Auntie Sue,
the girl grows dearer to me every year."
"Betty Jo is that kind of a girl, Homer," Auntie Sue answered.
"I suppose it is because she is all I have to love," he said, "but, you
know, ever since Sister Grace died and left the fatherless little kid
to me, it seems like all my plans have centered around her; and now that
she has finished her school; has travelled abroad, and gone through with
that business-college course, I am beginning to feel like we should sort
of settle down together. I am glad for her to be with you this summer,
though, for the finishing touches; and when she comes home to stay, you
are coming with her.
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