man like Lavette. There are enough decent boys of de cent families.”
“You said it.” Jean smiled. “They’re boys. He’s a man.”
“He is nobody,” her mother said. “Your father looked into his background. His folks were Italian im migrants. He has no family, no education, and no position. He lives in a shack on the waterfront, and he is certainly the last person in the world for you to spend your time with.”
“His father was French,” Jean said calmly, “if that makes any difference. And he’s better educated and better read than half the people downstairs tonight. He’s kind and generous, and he loves me.”
“Oh? And just what do you feel about him?” Seldon asked.
“I love him and I intend to marry him.”
“You are quite mad!” her mother exclaimed. “The whole thing is insane! You’re talking like a child.”
“I am not a child, and I will not be treated like a child. I am almost twenty-one.”
“Jean, dear,” Seldon said quietly, “your mother is surprised and upset. It’s late, and I don’t think this kind of an argument will get us anywhere. I suggest we all sleep on it.” He fairly dragged his wife out of the room, and once in their own bedroom, he said to her, “That was the worst thing you could have said.”
“And what did you say?”
“There is nothing I could say tonight, because she’s right. She’s been running around with kids. That’s a man.”
Mary dropped into a chair and stared bleakly at her husband. “I will not have it.”
t H e I m m I g r a n t s
8 3
“She’ll be of age, and if that’s what she wants, we’ll have it, whether we like it or not. I have one child, and I will not disown her or drive her out of the house.”
“You could stop it.”
“How?”
“Buy him off. Give him money.”
Seldon shook his head.
“Don’t just shake your head at me.”
“My dear Mary, your daughter’s a better judge of men than you are. You don’t buy him off. I had a talk with him before he left tonight. I told him that he could have the loan he wanted, and in return I’d expect an end to his attentions to my daughter.”
“What did he say?”
“He just looked at me at first. I would not want to have that kid as an enemy. Then he smiled and said that considering both our positions, he had no intention of responding with anger.”
“And just what did he mean by that?”
“He said he didn’t give a damn about my money, but he cared a great deal about my daughter.”
“And her money, I assure you.”
“I don’t think so. I really don’t think so, Mary.” He took off his jacket and pulled at his tie. “I don’t know what we can do about it,” he said slowly. “I have a feeling that Dan Lavette will get what he wants.”
“What are you telling me—that my daughter will marry a Catholic and that there’s nothing I can do about it?”
“Now hold on. We haven’t come to that yet.”
“And when we do come to it, Thomas?”
“We’ll cross that bridge then.”
“You’re not listening. You didn’t hear a word I said. The man’s nobody, an Italian fisherman and a Catholic. Have you ever thought about Catholics, Thomas? Have you?”
8 4
H o w a r d F a s t
“I’ve thought about them.”
“Have you? Have you indeed? Do you know what they are? My father would turn over in his grave at the thought. I will not have my daughter thrown to the dogs!”
“Mary, I’m tired. Too tired to go on with this. Let’s sleep on it.”
“She doesn’t know her own mind. Her head is spin ning, and she’s infatuated with that hoodlum. I think she ought to go away for a while.”
“Don’t misjudge her either,” Seldon said wearily. “She will do as she pleases. Our daughter is quite a woman.”
The Oregon Queen was berthed at Hunter’s Point, and it was Anthony Cassala who decided that the signing of the final papers should take place on the ship. Swenson, a tall, sour-visaged man of seventy-six years who had the
“You said it.” Jean smiled. “They’re boys. He’s a man.”
“He is nobody,” her mother said. “Your father looked into his background. His folks were Italian im migrants. He has no family, no education, and no position. He lives in a shack on the waterfront, and he is certainly the last person in the world for you to spend your time with.”
“His father was French,” Jean said calmly, “if that makes any difference. And he’s better educated and better read than half the people downstairs tonight. He’s kind and generous, and he loves me.”
“Oh? And just what do you feel about him?” Seldon asked.
“I love him and I intend to marry him.”
“You are quite mad!” her mother exclaimed. “The whole thing is insane! You’re talking like a child.”
“I am not a child, and I will not be treated like a child. I am almost twenty-one.”
“Jean, dear,” Seldon said quietly, “your mother is surprised and upset. It’s late, and I don’t think this kind of an argument will get us anywhere. I suggest we all sleep on it.” He fairly dragged his wife out of the room, and once in their own bedroom, he said to her, “That was the worst thing you could have said.”
“And what did you say?”
“There is nothing I could say tonight, because she’s right. She’s been running around with kids. That’s a man.”
Mary dropped into a chair and stared bleakly at her husband. “I will not have it.”
t H e I m m I g r a n t s
8 3
“She’ll be of age, and if that’s what she wants, we’ll have it, whether we like it or not. I have one child, and I will not disown her or drive her out of the house.”
“You could stop it.”
“How?”
“Buy him off. Give him money.”
Seldon shook his head.
“Don’t just shake your head at me.”
“My dear Mary, your daughter’s a better judge of men than you are. You don’t buy him off. I had a talk with him before he left tonight. I told him that he could have the loan he wanted, and in return I’d expect an end to his attentions to my daughter.”
“What did he say?”
“He just looked at me at first. I would not want to have that kid as an enemy. Then he smiled and said that considering both our positions, he had no intention of responding with anger.”
“And just what did he mean by that?”
“He said he didn’t give a damn about my money, but he cared a great deal about my daughter.”
“And her money, I assure you.”
“I don’t think so. I really don’t think so, Mary.” He took off his jacket and pulled at his tie. “I don’t know what we can do about it,” he said slowly. “I have a feeling that Dan Lavette will get what he wants.”
“What are you telling me—that my daughter will marry a Catholic and that there’s nothing I can do about it?”
“Now hold on. We haven’t come to that yet.”
“And when we do come to it, Thomas?”
“We’ll cross that bridge then.”
“You’re not listening. You didn’t hear a word I said. The man’s nobody, an Italian fisherman and a Catholic. Have you ever thought about Catholics, Thomas? Have you?”
8 4
H o w a r d F a s t
“I’ve thought about them.”
“Have you? Have you indeed? Do you know what they are? My father would turn over in his grave at the thought. I will not have my daughter thrown to the dogs!”
“Mary, I’m tired. Too tired to go on with this. Let’s sleep on it.”
“She doesn’t know her own mind. Her head is spin ning, and she’s infatuated with that hoodlum. I think she ought to go away for a while.”
“Don’t misjudge her either,” Seldon said wearily. “She will do as she pleases. Our daughter is quite a woman.”
The Oregon Queen was berthed at Hunter’s Point, and it was Anthony Cassala who decided that the signing of the final papers should take place on the ship. Swenson, a tall, sour-visaged man of seventy-six years who had the
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