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"Going, Nora?" "I am. And I advise you to have your dinner in your room." Alone, he turned on the light. It never occurred to him that he might be prying into some of Nora's private correspondence. He unfolded the parchment and held it under the light. For a long time he stared at the writing, which was in English, at the date, at the names. Then he quietly refolded it and put it away for future use, immediate future use. "This is a great world," he murmured, rubbing his ear tenderly. CHAPTER XX JOURNEY'S END Harrigan dined alone. He was in disgrace; he was sore, mentally as well as physically; and he ate his dinner without relish, in simple obedience to those well regulated periods of hunger that assailed him three times a day, in spring, summer, autumn and winter. By the time the waiter had cleared away the dishes, Harrigan had a perfecto between his teeth (along with a certain matrimonial bit), and smoked as if he had wagered to finish the cigar in half the usual stretch. He then began to walk the floor, much after the fashion of a man who has the toothache, or the earache, which would be more to the point. To his direct mind no diplomacy was needed; all that was necessary was a few blunt questions. Nora could answer them as she chose. Nora, his baby, his little girl that used to run around barefooted and laugh when he applied the needed birch! How children grew up! And they never grew too old for the birch; they certainly never did. They heard him from the drawing-room; tramp, tramp, tramp. "Let him be, Nora," said Mrs. Harrigan, wisely. "He is in a rage about something. And your father is not the easiest man to approach when he's mad. If he fought Mr. Courtlandt, he believed he had some good reason for doing so." "Mother, there are times when I believe you are afraid of father." "I am always afraid of him. It is only because I make believe I'm not that I can get him to do anything. It was dreadful. And Mr. Courtlandt was such a gentleman. I could cry. But let your father be until to-morrow." "And have him wandering about with that black eye? Something must be done for it. I'm not afraid of him." "Sometimes I wish you were." So Nora entered the lion's den fearlessly. "Is there anything I can do for you, dad?" "You can get the witch-hazel and bathe this lamp of mine," grimly. She ran into her own room and returned with the simpler devices for reducing a swollen eye. She did n
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