Lynch, caressingly.
"Well, I'm about as far from it as I am from being President of the
United States. Adam has a better chance--if he ever gets his way.
_There's_ a leader."
Mrs. Lynch cut a generous portion of apple pie in a silence that said
plainly she did not agree with her boy. Dale ate the pie, wiped his
lips, pushed back the plate.
"The Rileys have got to move up the river."
"Dale, you don't say so?" Mrs. Lynch was all concern now. The Rileys
were neighbors. Tim Riley had fallen down an unguarded shaft at the
Mills and had hurt his back. Mrs. Lynch had helped Mrs. Riley care for
her husband and had grown very fond of the plucky little woman. "Why,
it's his death he'll get with the dampness up there, and those blessed
little colleens."
"Well, they've got to go. Riley can only work half-time now and he can't
afford one of these houses."
"Oh, dear, oh, dear," sighed Mrs. Lynch. "Don't tell Robin," she begged.
"It's so happy the child is with her House of Laughter, as she calls it
and--Dale, she's a different Forsyth."
"She's just a kid," he answered, in a tone that implied Robin could have
little weight against the impregnable House of Forsyth.
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