It was not only the book of the year;--it was, in Homer T.
Ward's opinion, one of the really big books of the Century.
"Well," commented Betty Jo, when they had read and reread that part of the letter, "dear old Uncle Homer may be a very conservative banker, but he certainly is more than liberal when he touches on the question of this new author.

Won't we have fun, Auntie Sue! Oh, won't we!" Then they planned the whole thing, and proceeded to carry out their plan.
Brian was told only that Mr.Ward was coming to visit Auntie Sue, and that he must be busy somewhere away from the house when the banker arrived, and not come until he was sent for, because Auntie Sue must make a full confession to her old pupil of the part she had played in the Re-Creation of Brian Kent before Homer T.Ward should meet his former clerk.
Brian, never dreaming that there were other confessions to be made, smilingly agreed to do exactly as he was told.
When the momentous day arrived, Betty Jo met her uncle in Thompsonville, and all the way home she talked so continuously of her school, and asked so many questions about his conduct and life and their many Chicago friends, that the helpless bank president had no chance whatever of asking her a single embarrassing question.

But, when dinner was over (Brian had taken his lunch with him to the clearing), Homer T.Ward wanted to know things.
"Was Brian Kent still working in the neighborhood ?" Auntie Sue informed him that Brian was still working in the neighborhood.
"Betty Jo had seen the bank clerk ?" Betty Jo's uncle supposed.

"What did she think of the fellow ?" Betty Jo thought Brian Kent was a rather nice fellow.
"And how had Betty Jo been amusing herself while her old uncle was slaving in the city ?" Betty Jo had been doing a number of things: Helping Auntie Sue with her housework; learning to cook; keeping up her stenographic work; reading.
"Reading ?" That reminded him, and forthwith Mr.Ward went to his room, and returned with the book.
And then those two blessed women listened and admired while he introduced them to the new genius, and read certain favorite passages from the great book, and grew enthusiastic on the new author, saying all that he had written in his letter and many things more, until Betty Jo could restrain herself no longer, but ran to him, and took the book from his hands, and, with her arms around his neck, told him that he was the dearest uncle in the world, because she was going to marry the man who wrote the book he so admired.
There were long explanations after that: How the book so highly valued by Banker Ward had actually been written in that very log house by the river; how Auntie Sue had sent for Betty Jo to assist the author with her typewriting; how the author, not knowing who Betty Jo was, had fallen in love with his stenographer, and, finally, how Betty Jo's author-lover was even then waiting to meet her guardian, still not knowing that her guardian was the banker Homer T.Ward.
"You see, uncle, dear," explained Betty Jo, "Auntie Sue and I were obliged to conspire this little conspiracy against my man, because, you know, authors are funny folk, and you never can tell exactly what they are going to do.

After giving your heart to a genius as wonderful as you yourself know this one to be, it would be terrible to have him refuse you just because you were the only living relative of a rich old banker;--it would, wouldn't it, uncle, dear ?" And, really, Homer T.Ward could find reason in Betty Jo's argument, which ended with that fatal trick question.
Taking his agreement for granted, Betty Jo continued: "And, you see, Auntie Sue and I were simply forced to conspire a little against you, uncle, dear, because you know perfectly well that, much as I needed the advantage of associating with such an author-man in the actual writing of his book, you would never, never have permitted me to fall in love with him before you had discovered for yourself what a great man he really is, and I simply had to fall in love with him because God made me to take care of a genius of some sort.