'
'Why?'
Mr Rackstraw laughed. One of those nasty, sharp, metallic laughs that
hit you like a bullet.
'How would you support my daughter?'
'I was thinking that you would help to some extent.'
'You were, were you?'
'I was.'
'Oh?'
Mr Rackstraw emitted another of those laughs.
'Well,' he said, 'it's off. You can take that as coming from an
authoritative source. No wedding-bells for you.'
Clarence drew himself up, fire flashing from his eyes and a bitter
smile curving his expressive lips.
'And no Meredith ball for you!' he cried.
Mr Rackstraw started as if some strong hand had plunged an auger into
him.
'What?' he shouted.
Clarence shrugged his superbly-modelled shoulders in silence.
'Come, come,' said Mr Rackstraw, 'you wouldn't let a little private
difference like that influence you in a really important thing like
this football match, would you?'
'I would.'
'You would practically blackmail the father of the girl you love?'
'Every time.'
'Her white-haired old father?'
'The colour of his hair would not affect me.'
'Nothing would move you?'
'Nothing.'
'Then, by George, you're just the son-in-law I want. You shall marry
Isabel; and I'll take you into partnership in my business this very
day. I've been looking for a good able-bodied bandit like you for
years.
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