His attention was just then all on Maggie. He saw her eyes grow
yet more bright at these last sentences of her father: bright with the
vision of approaching adventure.
"The idea suits you, Maggie?" he asked.
"Sure. It'll be great--for Larry is a wonder!"
Barney Palmer suddenly rose, his face twisted with anger. "I'm all fed
up on this Larry, Larry, Larry! Come on, Jimmie. Let's get uptown."
Wise Old Jimmie saw that Barney was near an outburst. "All right,
Barney, all right," he said promptly. "Not much use waiting any
longer, anyhow. If Larry comes, we'll fix it with the Duchess to meet
him tomorrow."
"Then so-long, Maggie," Barney flung at her, and that swagger
ex-jockey, gambler, and clever manipulator of the confidence of people
with money, slashed aside the shabby burlap curtains with his wisp of
a bamboo walking-stick, and strode out of the room.
"Good-night, daughter," and Old Jimmie crossed and kissed her. She
kissed him back--a perfunctory kiss. Maggie had never paused to think
the matter out, but for some reason she felt little real affection for
her father, though of course she admired his astuteness. Perhaps her
unconscious lack of love was due in part to the fact that she had
never lived with him. Ever since she remembered he had boarded her
out, here and there, as he was now boarding her at the Duchess's--and
had only come to visit her at intervals, sometimes intervals that
stretched into months.
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