"What do _you_ think ?" he finally asked.
"I--I can't quite make up my mind." "Do you think I ought to drudge and slave, as he has?
Do you think I ought to spend my life in making money, in dealing in flour?
Isn't there something better than that ?" "I don't think it's what a man deals in; I think it's _how_ he deals.
And I don't believe there's any sort of man finer and better than father, Arthur." "That's true," he assented warmly.

"I used to envy the boys at college--some of them--because their fathers and mothers had so much culture and knowledge of the world.

But when I came to know their parents better--and them, too--I saw how really ignorant and vulgar--yes, vulgar--they were, under their veneer of talk and manner which they thought was everything.

'They may be fit to stand before kings' I said to myself, 'but my father _is_ a king--and of a sort they ain't fit to stand before.'" The color was high in Del's cheeks and her eyes were brilliant.

"You'll come out all right, Artie," said she.