I'd have stayed, then, no matter what string was pulling me to New York.

It's so seldom, you see, that dad lowers his guard and lets you glimpse the real feeling there is in him.

I felt such a cur for even wanting to leave him, that I stayed in that evening instead of going down to the Olympic, where was to be a sort of impromptu boxing-match between a couple of our swiftest amateurs.
Talking to dad was virtuous, but unexciting.

I remember we discussed the profit, loss, and risk of cattle-raising in Montana, till bedtime came for dad.

Then I went up and roasted Rankin for looking so damned astonished at my wanting to go to bed at ten-thirty.