On his second Sunday at home, to his father's great surprise, he attended church, and after contemplating Miss Nugent's back hair for an hour and a half came home and spoke eloquently and nobly on "burying hatchets," "healing old sores," "letting bygones be bygones," and kindred topics.
"I never take much notice of sermons myself," said the captain, misunderstanding.
"Sermon ?" said his son.

"I wasn't thinking of the sermon, but I saw Captain Nugent there, and I remembered the stupid quarrel between you.
It's absurd that it should go on indefinitely." "Why, what does it matter ?" inquired the other, staring.

"Why shouldn't it?
Perhaps it's the music that's affected you; some of those old hymns--" "It wasn't the sermon and it wasn't the hymns," said his son, disdainfully; "it's just common sense.

It seems to me that the enmity between you has lasted long enough." "I don't see that it matters," said the captain; "it doesn't hurt me.
Nugent goes his way and I go mine, but if I ever get a chance at the old man, he'd better look out.

He wants a little of the starch taken out of him." "Mere mannerism," said his son.
"He's as proud as Lucifer, and his girl takes after him," said the innocent captain.