ot so--it could not be possible that dad was _still_ talking! Jim
stole through the back hallway and out on to the grass beneath the
sitting-room windows on the other side of the house. The voices were
louder now--the visitor's very loud.

Jim raised his head and tried to smile.

Of course!--dad was sending him about his business, and the man was
angry--that was it. It had taken longer than he thought, but dad--dad
never did like to hurt folks' feelings. Some men--some men did not
care how they talked; but not dad. Why, dad--dad did not even like to
kill a mouse; he--

There came the sound of a laugh--a long, ringing laugh with a gleeful
chuckle at the end. Jim grew faint. That was--_dad_!

Ten seconds later the two men in the sitting-room were confronted by a
white-faced, shaking boy.

"Maybe you did n't know, Mr. O'Flannigan," began Jim eagerly, "maybe
you did n't know that dad don't speak sharp. He ain't much for hurtin'
folks' feelings; but he means it just the same--that he won't do what
you want him to do. He's square and straight--dad is, an' he don't
dodge; but maybe you thought 'cause he laughed that he was easy--but he
ain't. Why, dad would n't--"

"Tut, tut, not so fast, my boy," cut in Danny O'Flannigan pompously.
"Your father has already--"

A strong hand gripped O'Flannigan's shoulder, and an agonized pair of
eyes arrested his words.

"For God's sake, man," muttered Barlow, "have you no mercy?
Think--have you no son of your own that believes you 're almost--God
Himself?"

For a brief instant Danny O'Flannigan's eyebrows and shoulders rose in
an expressive gesture, and his hands made a disdainful sweep; then his
eyes softened strangely.

"As you please," he said, and reached for his hat with an air that was
meant to show indifference. "Then the deal is off, I suppose."

"There!" crowed Jim, as the door clicked behind the checkered trousers.
"There, I knew you'd do it, dad. Just as if-- Why, dad, you
're--_cryin_'! Pooh! who cares for Danny O'Flannigan?" he soothed,
patting the broad shoulders bowed low over the table. "I would n't cry
for him!"

Millionaire Mike's Thanksgiving

He was not Mike at first; he was only the Millionaire--a young
millionaire who sat in a wheel chair on the pier waiting for the boat.
He had turned his coat-collar up to shut out the wind, and his hatbrim
down to shut out the sun. For the time being he was alone. He had
sent his attendant back