"Give me ten words more of that
talk and I'll take you across my knee," he called over his shoulder.
"There are some men that never grow old enough to get beyond the
spanking age."
Presson, interested spectator, looked for the natural outburst of youth
at that point. But he stared at the young man, and decided that he truly
had inherited the Thornton grit and self-restraint which the Duke seemed
now to have lost all at once after all the years.
Harlan gazed after his grandfather, lips tightening. He was an
embodiment of wholesome young manhood, as he stood there, struggling
with the passion that prompted him to unfilial reproaches. Then he
turned to the girl. He had a wistful smile for her.
"I'm sorry, little Clare," he said, softly. She slipped her hands under
the belt of his corduroy jacket and gazed up at him tearfully.
"He had no right to say that I--that I--oh, he doesn't understand
friendship!" she cried.
"No, and we'll not try to explain--not now! But I have some serious
matters to talk over with my grandfather.
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