But my father had some
sense. He was a Kentucky farmer and raised horses and mules. I never
knew anything about music, for I wouldn't learn; but I own a stock farm
near Lexington, and just between ourselves I don't lose any money on it.
And most that I know about men I learned from mules; there's nothing in
the world so interesting as a mule."
When Professor Kelton had declared to Sylvia on the way from the station
that Mrs. Owen was unlike any other woman in the world, Sylvia had not
thought very much about it. To be sure Sylvia's knowledge of the world
was the meagrest, but certainly she could never have imagined any woman
as remarkable as Mrs. Owen. The idea that a mule, instead of being a
dull beast of burden, had really an educational value struck her as
decidedly novel, and she did not know just what to make of it. Mrs. Owen
readjusted the pillow at her back, and went on spiritedly:--
"Your grandpa has often spoken of you, and it's mighty nice to have you
here. You see a good many of us Hoosiers are Kentucky people, and your
grandpa's father was. I remember perfectly well when your grandpa went
to the Naval Academy; and we were all mighty proud of him in the war."
Mrs. Owen's white hair was beautifully soft and wavy, and she wore it in
the prevailing manner. Her eyes narrowed occasionally with an effect of
sudden dreaminess, and these momentary reveries seemed to the adoring
Sylvia wholly fascinating.
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