He could understand just why I didn't want to be called hard names, and yet I didn't object to his thinkin' whatever he pleased.

I'd like him to know--" "No one can speak to him, no one can tell him," March began again, but again Dryfoos prevented him from going on.
"I understand it's a delicate thing; and I'm not askin' you to do it.
What I would really like to do--if you think he could be prepared for it, some way, and could stand it--would be to go to him myself, and tell him just what the trouble was.

I'm in hopes, if I done that, he could see how I felt about it." A picture of Dryfoos going to the dead Lindau with his vain regrets presented itself to March, and he tried once more to make the old man understand.

"Mr.Dryfoos," he said, "Lindau is past all that forever," and he felt the ghastly comedy of it when Dryfoos continued, without heeding him.
"I got a particular reason why I want him to believe it wasn't his ideas I objected to--them ideas of his about the government carryin' everything on and givin' work.

I don't understand 'em exactly, but I found a writin'-- among--my son's-things" (he seemed to force the words through his teeth), "and I reckon he--thought--that way.