In fact, he
had turned out quite an unusual father. At the same time he fell short
of being an absolute angel of acquiescence and compliance. For
instance, his youngest child, a girl, broached the subject of music at
that very lunch. She was fourteen, and had shown some of her father's
cleverness at a school musical examination. She was rather uplifted
about her music.
"Can't I take it up seriously, dad?" she said, with the extreme
gravity of her years.
"Of course," said he. "The better you play, the more we shall all be
pleased. Don't you think we deserve some reward for all we've suffered
under your piano-practising?"
She blushed.
"But I mean seriously," she insisted.
"Well, my pet," said he, "you don't reckon you could be a star
pianist, do you? Fifteen hundred dollars a concert, and so on?" And,
as she was sitting next to him, he affectionately pinched her
delicious ear.
"No," she admitted. "But I could teach. I should like to teach."
"Teach!" He repeated the word in a changed tone. "Teach! What in
Heaven's name should you want to teach for? I don't quite see a
daughter of mine teaching."
No more was said on the subject.
The young woman and I are on rather confidential terms.
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