“I didn't mean to offend you, Galt,” he said, as his boy limped away, still mopping his eyes with his fists. “I reckon I got hot because it was my own flesh and blood. Of course, it was natural for you to sympathize with the smaller of the two.”
“That's the way _I_ felt about it, Weston,” Galt said, staring coldly at the speaker. “I have nothing at all to apologize for.”
“Well, I'll see that Grover behaves himself better in future,” the Congressman said, still with his political eye open to advantages. “Of course, it would be natural for a child like mine to pick up remarks floating about among older people in regard to the mother of--”
“We'll let that drop, _too_, Weston!” Galt snarled. His lip quivered ominously as he glanced significantly at Lionel, who was listening attentively, the blood from a bruised nose trickling down to his chin and neck.
“All right, I understand,” the Congressman said; and he moved awkwardly away, wondering what manner of man the frigid and reticent Galt was, after all.
“I suppose I've got myself in a pretty mess,” Lionel remarked, ruefully, when Weston had left him and his father together. “My mother has made me promise time after time not to fight; but, you see, I did.”
“Yes, I see you did,” Galt responded, a lump of queer approval in his throat.
“I couldn't help it--I really couldn't,” Lionel said, with a rueful look at his hands, which were covered with the blood of his antagonist. “I must be a bad boy; but oh, I couldn't let him say my beautiful mother--my sweet mo--” He choked up. “I couldn't--I simply couldn't! She is so sweet and good! I couldn't help it!”
“Of course not, but don't worry about it,” Galt said, sunken to depths of shame he had never reached before. “You must try to forget it--forget the whole thing.”
“I am afraid my mother will find out about it, and, you know, she mustn't,” the child said, his great eyes filled with concern. “She would ask what the boy said, and Granny says she must never be told nasty things children say to me. Such things make her sad and keep her from painting. She must not find out about this--this fight.”
“Well, she really need not know,” Galt said, as the heat of his shame mantled his face and brow.