She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. The intruder was handsomely, even richly, attired in a scarlet riding-suit, embroidered with gold; a broad belt, to which a hanger was attached, crossed his shoulders; his boots rose above his knee, and he carried a laced hat in his hand. He was interesting and inconclusive, and the original papers to which he referred her discursive were at best only suggestive. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. They were now both in a state of unprecedented physical fitness. "How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked Sharples, in a jeering tone. Where's the dining room? And, say, can I have some eggs? This jam-tea breakfast gets my goat. Well one night, some of us saw him, or thought we saw him, at a café dining with ‘Alcide,’—as a matter of fact, it seems that it was her sister. From there I plan to travel until I reach Columbia—but any lawless country will do. I swore to hang you two years ago, but I deferred my purpose. I don’t play anything. A lot of girls have had it in for him but he must be picky or something because he didn’t go to Junior Prom even though I know he got asked. Father-worshipping sons are abnormal— and they’re no good.
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