Hardy glared at
him, seemed to smite him with his eyes.
"I'm not in business for my health," he said coldly.
"Nor for anybody else's," Uncle Henry, unabashed, told him.
Angela feared there was going to be trouble. "Now, daddy, you mustn't--you
really mustn't--I feel--"
But her father did not hear her.
"The time's up at eight o'clock," was all he said, and looked sternly at
Gilbert, much as a judge who is pronouncing sentence looks at the prisoner
at the bar.
"I know it," said Gilbert.
"Now, daddy--" Angela began again.
Hardy was angry at her repeated solicitation. "Will you let me alone? This
is my business," he said to her in a firm voice, "Remember that, and don't
attempt to put your finger in the pie. This is my business, I tell you."
"Yes, I know daddy; but you needn't be so mean about it."
"I'm a plain man, and I don't believe in beating about the bush. Get that
through your head--every one of you, I mean."
"But you might at least be--" his daughter began once more.
"Won't you please keep still?" His rage was mounting; and his brow
darkened.
"I only want you to be nice about it, daddy," Angela persisted, sweetly.
"How can anybody be nice about a thing like this?" said the man of iron.
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