"
"Your daughter!" Fred exclaimed, turning his back to pick out another
stick for the stove.
"Yes, my girl, my only girl--it's her I came to see. She's living near
here. I guess you'd know her: she's married to a no-good Englishman, a
real lizzie-boy, that wouldn't say boo to a goose!"
Fred continued to fix the fire, poking it unnecessarily. He was
confident that Evelyn's father would not recognize him with his crop of
whiskers and sunburnt face. His mind was full of conflicting emotions.
"Maybe you know him," said the old man. "His name is Brydon. They live
somewhere near the Stopping-House."
"I've not lived here long," said Fred, evasively, "but I've heard of
them."
The comfort and security of the warm little shack, as well as the good
meal Fred had given him, had loosened the old man's tongue.
"I never liked this gent. I only saw him once, but it don't take me
long to make up my mind. He carried a cane and had his monogram on his
socks--that was enough for me--and a red tie on him, so red you'd think
his throat was cut. I says to myself, I don't want that shop window
Judy round my house,' but Evelyn thought he was the best going. Funny
thing that that girl was the very one to laugh at dudes before that,
but she stuck it out that he was a fine chap. She's game, all right, my
girl is. She stays right with the job. I wrote and told her to come on
back and I'd give her every cent I have--but she pitched right into me
about not asking Fred.
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