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Machine Learning and
its Applications
Peter Wlodarczak
University of Southern Queensland
Toowoomba, Queensland, Australia
p,
p,
A SCIENCE PUBLISHERS BOOK
A SCIENCE PUBLISHERS BOOK
CRC Press
Taylor & Francis Group
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Boca Raton, FL 33487-2742
© 2020 by Taylor & Francis Group, LLC
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such as robots who could turn evil, loss of control over existential
infrastructure or even a war starting due to artificial intelligence.
However, it should be noted that artificial intelligence, as the name
suggests, is artificial and has nothing to do with human intelligence. A
machine may be capable of recognizing whether an animal in a picture
is a lion or a tiger, but it is not able to understand the concept behind
what it recognized, i.e., it does not understand the concept of a living
being. A deep learner is, in essence, a huge mathematical formula. It
has nothing to do with how the human brain works, where biochemical
processes are executed. An artificial neural network is inspired by
nature. It has a grain of how we think the brain works and a lot of math
thrown at it. Visions of machines replacing doctors in diagnosing a
patient or lawyers in sentencing a perpetrator are probably premature.
It is more likely that we will see artificial intelligence supporting a
doctor or a lawyer in his daily work instead of replacing her or him in
the near future.
This book aims to explain the basic concepts behind machine learning
and the machine learning methods. It is the work of several years of
experience in applying these methods in practice in various projects. It
tries to give a concise description of the algorithms and the math behind
them to the level where it helps explain the inner workings. However,
it is not intended to give an exhaustive mathematical description with
all the derivations. Also, machine learning goes back to the 1940’s
and has evolved since then and many different techniques have been
developed, too many to describe in one single book. Also, for virtually
every machine learning method, variations have been proposed that
might be more suitable for certain problems than others. Nevertheless,
some of the basic concepts apply to many of these methods and
understanding them makes it easy to familiarize oneself with new
methods that have not been used before. This book is written in such
a way that each chapter can be read individually with the caveat that
some redundancy exists in the chapters. This book will hopefully make
it easier for the reader to get started with machine learning and support
them in the fascinating journey through the world of data science and
machine learning.
Contents
Preface v
List of Figures xiii
List of Tables xv
SECTION I: INTRODUCTION
1. Introduction 3
1.1 Data mining 5
1.2 Data mining steps 6
1.3 Data collection 7
1.4 Data pre-processing 8
1.5 Data analysis 10
1.5.1 Supervised learning 10
1.5.2 Unsupervised learning 11
1.5.3 Semi-supervised learning 12
1.5.4 Machine learning and statistics 13
1.6 Data post-processing 15
2. Machine Learning Basics 17
2.1 Supervised learning 19
2.1.1 Perceptron 21
2.2 Unsupervised learning 25
2.2.1 k-means clustering 27
x < Machine Learning and its Applications
3. Data Pre-processing 43
3.1 Feature extraction 44
3.2 Sampling 46
3.3 Data transformation 47
3.4 Outlier removal 47
3.5 Data deduplication 48
3.6 Relevance filtering 48
3.7 Normalization, discretization and aggregation 49
3.8 Entity resolution 50
4. Supervised Learning 53
4.1 Classification 56
4.1.1 Artificial neural networks 57
4.1.2 Bayesian models 67
4.1.3 Decision trees 69
4.1.4 Support vector machines 74
4.1.5 k-nearest neighbor 79
4.2 Regression analysis 82
4.2.1 Linear regression 85
4.2.2 Polynomial regression 91
4.3 Logistic regression 92
5. Evaluation of Learner 97
5.1 Evaluating a learner 97
5.1.1 Accuracy 99
5.1.2 Precision and recall 99
5.1.3 Confusion matrix 101
5.1.4 Receiver operating characteristic 103
Contents < xi
Introduction
CONTENTS
1.1 Data mining . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
1.2 Data mining steps . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6
1.3 Data collection . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7
1.4 Data pre-processing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8
1.5 Data analysis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10
1.5.1 Supervised learning . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10
1.5.2 Unsupervised learning . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11
1.5.3 Semi-supervised learning . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12
1.5.4 Machine learning and statistics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13
1.6 Data post-processing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15
Machine learning has gained momentum in the past years due to big
progresses, in particular using deep learners, that have been made in
object and speech recognition and autonomous systems, such as au-
Introduction 5
Humans learn from experience, machines learn from data. Data is the
starting point for all machine learning projects. Machine learning tech-
niques learn the rules from historic data in order to create an inner rep-
resentation, an abstraction, that is often difficult to interpret. Program-
ming computers to learn from experience should eventually eliminate
the need for much of this detailed programming effort [35].
6 Machine Learning and its Applications
Often there is more than one data source and multiple data sources
need to be combined, a process called data integration. As a general
technology, data mining can be applied to any kind of data as long as
the data are meaningful for a target application [10].
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Extracting the relevant information from a data set is called feature ex-
traction. It selects the relevant observation points from raw data. Some-
times the feature set is reduced, a process called feature selection. Fea-
ture selection helps to avoid overfitting since it reduces the complexity,
but it should still describe the data with sufficient accuracy. The result-
ing set of features is represented as a feature vector. A feature vector is
what many machine learning algorithms use as input. Features can be
numerical, e.g., the age of a person, or categorical, e.g., the job title of
a person. The input for a machine learning algorithm can be a tensor
with any number of dimensions. If the tensor has one dimension it is a
vector, if it has two dimensions it is a matrix.
biguous. In other words, chess data has no noise and a limited set of
rules.
The advancing dust cloud rose from a little group of horses and men.
Some of the latter were riding. Others were afoot.
“Lon’s caught them,” said Betty. “I’m sorry.”
“Not so sorry as they’ll be,” returned the ragged youth grimly.
The foreman swung heavily from his horse. Though he was all
muscle and bone, he did not carry his two hundred pounds
gracefully.
“We got the birds all right, Miss Betty, even if they were hittin’ the trail
right lively,” he called to the girl, an ominous grin on his leathery
face. “I guess they’d figured out this wasn’t no healthy climate for
them.” He added, with a swift reversion to business, “Where’s yore
paw?”
“Not back yet. What’ll he do with them, Lon?” the girl asked, her
voice low and troubled.
Distressed in soul, she was looking for comfort. The big foreman
gave her none.
“He’ll do a plenty. You don’t need to worry about that. We aim to
keep this country safe for our womenfolks.”
“Oh, I wish he wouldn’t. I wish he’d let them go,” she said, almost in
a wail.
“He won’t. Clint ain’t that soft.” Forbes stared at the disreputable
vagrant standing beside Betty. “What’s he doing here?”
“Dusty dragged him back. That’s all the sense he has.”
Lon spoke just as though the vagrant were not present. “Lucky for
him he’s got an alibi this time.”
“Is it necessary to insult him after he protected me?” the girl
demanded, eyes flashing. “I’m ashamed of you, Lon.”
He was taken aback. “I reckon it takes more’n that to insult a hobo.”
“Is a man a hobo because he’s looking for work?”
The foreman’s hard gaze took in the man, his white face and soft
hands. “What would he do if he found it?” he asked bluntly.
“You’ve no right to say that,” she flung back. “I think it’s hateful the
way you’re all acting. I tell you he fought for me—after what Father
did to him.”
“Fought for you?” This was news to Lon. His assumption had been
that the young fellow had merely entered a formal protest in order to
clear himself in case retribution followed. “You mean with his fists?”
“Yes—against the thin-faced one. He thrashed him and put me on
my horse and started me home. Then Dusty ropes him and drags
him here on the ground and you come and insult him. He must think
we’re a grateful lot.”
As they looked at the slim, vital girl confronting him with such
passionate and feminine ferocity, the eyes of the foreman softened.
All her life she had been a part of his. He had held her on his knee, a
crowing baby, while her dimpled fingers clung to his rough coat or
explored his unshaven face. He had fished her out of an irrigation
ditch when she was three. He had driven her to school when for the
first time she started on that great adventure. It had been under his
direction that she had learned to ride, to fish, to shoot. He loved her
as though she had been flesh of his flesh and blood of his blood. It
was a delight to him to be bullied by her and to serve her whims.
“I renig,” he said. “Clint never told me the boy done that. I had it
doped out he was just savin’ his own hide. But I’ll take it all back if
it’s like you say. Shake, son.”
The tramp did not refuse to grip the big brown hand thrust at him.
Nor did he accept the proffered alliance. By a fraction of a second he
forestalled the foreman by stooping to knot a broken lace in one of
the gaping shoes.
Cig, who had been edging closer, gave Tug a rancorous look. “I ain’t
forgettin’ this,” he promised. “I’ll get youse good some day for rappin’
on me.”
“He didn’t tell on you. Some of my men brought him here in the
gather like we did you,” Forbes explained.
“Wot’ell youse givin’ me? He rapped. That’s wot he done, the big
stiff. An’ I’ll soitainly get him right for it.”
“That kind of talk ain’t helpin’ you any,” the foreman said. “If you got
any sense, you’ll shut yore trap an’ take what’s comin’.”
“I’ll take it. Don’t youse worry about that. You’d better kill me while
youse are on the job, for I’ll get you, too, sure as I’m a mont’ old.”
Reed drove up in the old car he used for a runabout. He killed the
engine, stepped down, and came up to the group by the porch.
“See you rounded ’em up, Lon.”
“Yep. Found ’em in the cottonwoods acrost the track at Wild Horse.”
The ranchman’s dominant eyes found Tug. “Howcome you here?” he
asked.
The gay-cat looked at him in sullen, resentful silence. The man’s
manner stirred up in the tramp a flare of opposition.
“Dusty brought him here. I want to tell you about that, Dad,” the girl
said.
“Later.” He turned to Tug. “I want a talk with you—got a proposition
to make you. See you later.”
“Not if I see you first,” the ragged nomad replied insolently. “I never
did like bullies.”
The ranchman flushed angrily, but he put a curb on his temper. He
could not afford to indulge it since he was so much in this youth’s
debt. Abruptly he turned away.
“Bring the other two to the barn,” he ordered Forbes. “We’ll have a
settlement there.”
York shuffled forward, in a torment of fear. “See here, mister. I ain’t
got a thing to do with this. Honest to Gawd, I ain’t. Ask Tug. Ask the
young lady. I got respeck for women, I have. You wouldn’t do dirt to
an old ’bo wot never done you no harm, would you, boss?”
His voice was a whine. The big gross man was on the verge of
blubbering. He seemed ready to fall on his knees.
“It’s true, Dad. He didn’t touch me,” Betty said in a low voice to her
father.
“Stood by, didn’t he? Never lifted a hand for you.”
“Yes, but—”
“You go into the house. Leave him to me,” ordered Reed. “Keep this
young man here till I come back.”
Betty knew when words were useless with her father. She turned
away and walked to the porch.
The cowpunchers with their prisoners moved toward the barn. York,
ululating woe, had to be dragged.
Left alone with the tramp called Tug, Betty turned to him a face of
dread. “Let’s go into the house,” she said drearily.
“You’d better go in. I’m taking the road now,” he said in answer.
“But Father wants to see you. If you’ll wait just a little—”
“I have no business with him. I don’t care to see him, now or any
time.” His voice was cold and hard. “Thank you for the lemonade,
Miss Reed. I’ll say good-bye.”
He did not offer his hand, but as he turned away he bowed.
There was nothing more for Betty to say except “Good-bye.”
In a small voice of distress she murmured it.
Her eyes followed him as far as the road. A sound from the barn
drove her into the house, to her room, where she could cover her
ears with the palms of her small brown hands.
She did not want to hear any echo of what was taking place there.
CHAPTER VIII
A RIFT IN THE LUTE
In the cool of the evening Justin Merrick drove down from the
Sweetwater Dam to the Diamond Bar K ranch. It was characteristic
of him that his runabout was up to date and in perfect condition. He
had an expensive taste in the accessories of life, and he either got
the best or did without.
Hands and face were tanned from exposure to the burning sun of the
Rockies, but he was smooth-shaven and immaculate in the
engineer’s suit which fitted his strong, heavy-set figure so snugly.
He drove with precision, as he did everything else in his well-ordered
life. There was in his strength no quality of impatience or turbulence.
He knew what he wanted and how to get it. That was why he had
traveled so far on the road to success and would go a great way
farther.
To-night he anticipated two pleasant hours with Betty Reed. He
would tell her about the work and how it was getting along, his
difficulties with the sand formation at the head gates and how he was
surmounting them. Even before she spoke, he would know from her
eager eyes that she was giving him the admiration due a successful
man from his sweetheart.
Afterward he would pass to more direct and personal love-making,
which she would evade if possible or accept shyly and reluctantly.
She was wearing his ring, but he doubted whether he had really
stormed the inner fortress of her heart. This uncertainty, and the
assurance that went with it of a precious gift not for the first chance
comer, appealed to his fastidious instinct, all the more that he was
sure she would some day come to him with shining eyes and
outstretched hands.
To-night Merrick found Betty distrait and troubled. Her attention to
the recital of his problems was perfunctory. He was conscious of a
slight annoyance. In spite of his force, Justin was a vain man, always
ready to talk of himself and his achievements in a modest way to an
interested and interesting young woman.
It appeared that her father had had a difficulty with some tramps,
which had eventuated in insolence that had brought upon the
vagrants summary physical punishment. From her account of it,
Justin judged that Reed had not handled the matter very wisely.
There was a way to do such things with a minimum of friction.
But he saw no need of worrying about it. The tramps had been given
what they deserved and the affair was closed. It was like a woman to
hold it heavily on her conscience because one of the ne’er-do-wells
chanced to be young and good-looking.
“If you’d seen him,” Betty protested. “A gentleman by the look of him,
or had been once, fine-grained, high-spirited, and yet so down-and-
out.”
“If he’s down-and-out, it’s his own fault. A man’s never that so long
as he holds to self-respect.”
This was incontrovertibly true, but Betty chose to be irritated. Justin
was so obviously successful. He might have had a little sympathy for
the underdog, she thought. Everybody did not have a square, salient
jaw like his. Weakness was not necessarily a crime.
“He looks as though life had mauled him,” she said. “It’s taken
something vital out of him. He doesn’t care what happens any more.”
“If he can only mooch his three meals a day and enough cash to
keep him supplied with bootleg poison,” the engineer added.
They were walking up to the Three Pines, a rocky bluff from which
they could in the daytime see far down the valley. She stopped
abruptly. If she did not stamp her foot, at least the girl’s manner gave
eloquently the effect of this indulgence.
“He’s not like that at all—not at all. Don’t you ever sympathize with
any one that’s in hard luck?” she cried out, her cheeks glowing with a
suffusion of underlying crimson.
“Not when he lies down under it.”
She flashed at him a look resentful of his complacency. It held, too,
for the first time a critical doubt. There was plenty to like about Justin
Merrick, and perhaps there was more to admire. He got things done
because he was so virile, so dominant. To look at the lines and
movements of his sturdy body, at the close-lipped mouth and
resolute eyes, was to know him a leader of men. But now a
treasonable thought had wirelessed itself into her brain. Had he a
mind that never ranged out of well-defined pastures, that was quite
content with the social and economic arrangement of the world? Did
there move in it only a tight little set of orthodox ideas?
“How do you know he lies down under it?” she asked with spirit.
“How do we know what he has to contend with? Or how he struggles
against it?”
If his open smile was not an apology, it refused, anyhow, to be at
variance with her. “Maybe so. As you say, I didn’t see him and you
did. We’ll let it go at that and hope he’s all you think he is.”
Betty, a little ashamed of her vagrant thoughts, tried to find a
common ground upon which they could stand. “Don’t you think that
men are often the victims of circumstance—that they get caught in
currents that kinda sweep them away?”
“‘I am the captain of my soul,’” he quoted sententiously.
“Yes, you are,” she admitted, after one swift glance that took in the
dogged, flinty quality of him. “But most of us aren’t. Take Dad. He’s
strong, and he’s four-square. But he wouldn’t have gone as far as he
did with these tramps if he hadn’t got carried away. Well, don’t you
think maybe this boy is a victim of ‘the bludgeonings of chance’? He
looked like it to me.”
“We make ourselves,” he insisted. “If the things we buck up against
break us, it’s because we’re weak.”
“Yes, but—” Betty’s protest died away. She was not convinced, and
she made another start. “It seems to me that when I read the new
novelists—Wells, Galsworthy, or Bennett, say—one of the things I
get out of them is that we are modified by our environment, not only
changed by it, but sometimes made the prey of it and destroyed by
it.”
“Depends on how solid on our feet we are,” answered the engineer.
“That’s the plea of the agitator, I know. He’s always wanting to do
impossible things by law or by a social upheaval. There’s nothing to
it. A man succeeds if he’s strong. He fails if he’s weak.”
This creed of the individualist was sometimes Betty’s own, but to-
night she was not ready to accept it. “That would be all very well if
we all started equal. But we don’t. What about a man who develops
tuberculosis, say, just when he is getting going? He’s weak, but it’s
no fault of his.”
“It may or may not be. Anyhow, it’s his misfortune. You can’t make
the world over because he’s come a cropper. Take this young tramp
of yours. I’d like to try him out and show you whether there’s
anything to him. I’d put him on the work and let him find his level.
Chances are he’d drift back to the road inside of a week. When a
man’s down-and-out, it isn’t because he doesn’t get a chance, but
because of some weakness in himself.”
Betty knew that in the case of many this was true. For a year or more
she had been an employer of labor herself. One of the things that
had impressed her among the young fellows who worked for her was
that they did find their level. The unskilled, shiftless, and less reliable
were dropped when work became slack. The intelligent and
energetic won promotion for themselves.
But she did not believe that it was by any means a universal truth.
Men were not machines, after all. They were human beings.
However, she dropped the subject.
“He’s gone, so you won’t have a chance to prove your case,” she
said. “Tell me about the work. How is it going?”
The Sweetwater Dam project had been initiated to water what was
known as the Flat Tops, a mesa that stretched from the edge of the
valley to the foothills. It had been and still was being bitterly opposed
by some of the cattlemen of Paradise Valley because its purpose
was to reclaim for farming a large territory over which cattle had
hitherto ranged at will. Their contention held nothing of novelty. It had
been argued all over the West ever since the first nesters came in to
dispute with the cattle barons the possession of the grazing lands. A
hundred districts in a dozen States had heard the claim that this was
a cattle country, unfit for farming and intensive settlement. Many of
them had seen it disproved.
The opposition of powerful ranching interests had not deterred Justin
Merrick. Threats did not disturb him. He set his square jaw and
pushed forward to the accomplishment of his purpose. As he rode or
drove through the valley, he knew that he was watched with hostile
eyes by reckless cowpunchers who knew that his success would put
a period to the occupation they followed. Two of them had tried to
pick a quarrel with him at Wild Horse on one occasion, and had
weakened before his cool and impassive fearlessness.
But he did not deceive himself. At any hour the anger of these men
might flare out against him in explosive action. For the first time in
his life he was carrying a revolver.
Clint Reed was a stockholder and a backer of the irrigation project.
He owned several thousand acres on the Flat Tops, and it was
largely on account of his energy that capital had undertaken the
reclamation of the dry mesa.
The head and front of the opposition was Jake Prowers, who had
brought down from early days an unsavory reputation that rumor
said he more than deserved. Strange stories were whispered about
this mild-mannered little man with the falsetto voice and the skim-
milk eyes. One of them was that he had murdered from ambush the
successful wooer of the girl he wanted, that the whole countryside
accepted the circumstantial evidence as true, and in spite of this he
had married the young widow within a year and buried her inside of
two. Nesters in the hills near his ranch had disappeared and never
been seen again. Word passed as on the breath of the winds that
Prowers had dry-gulched them. Old-timers still lived who had seen
him fight a duel with two desperadoes on the main street of Wild
Horse. He had been carried to the nearest house on a shutter with
three bullets in him, but the two bad men had been buried next day.
The two most important ranchmen in the valley were Clint Reed and
Jake Prowers. They never had been friendly. Usually they were
opposed to each other on any public question that arose. Each was
the leader of his faction. On politics they differed. Clint was a
Republican, Jake a Democrat. There had been times when they had
come close to open hostilities. The rivalry between them had
deepened to hatred on the part of Prowers. When Reed announced
through the local paper the inception of the Sweetwater Dam project,
his enemy had sworn that it should never go through while he was
alive.
Hitherto Prowers had made no move, but everybody in the district
knew that he was biding his time. Competent engineers of the
Government had passed adversely on this irrigation project. They
had decided water could not be brought down from the hills to the
Flat Tops. Jake had seen the surveys and believed them to be
correct. He was willing that Reed and the capitalists he had
interested should waste their money on a fool’s dream. If Justin
Merrick was right—if he could bring water through Elk Creek Cañon
to the Flat Tops—it would be time enough for Prowers to strike.
Knowing the man as he did, Clint Reed had no doubt that, if it
became necessary in order to defeat the project, his enemy would
move ruthlessly and without scruple. It was by his advice that Justin
Merrick kept the dam guarded at night and carried a revolver with
him when he drove over or tramped across the hills.
CHAPTER IX
UNDER FIRE
All day the faint far whir of the reaper could have been heard from
the house of the Diamond Bar K ranch. The last of the fields had
been cut. Much of the grain had been gathered and was ready for
the thresher.
The crop was good. Prices would be fair. Clint Reed rode over the
fields with the sense of satisfaction it always gave him to see
gathered the fruits of the earth. His pleasure in harvesting or in
rounding-up beef steers was not only that of the seller looking to his
profit. Back of this was the spiritual gratification of having been a
factor in supplying the world’s needs. To look at rippling wheat
ripening under the sun, to feed the thresher while the fan scattered a
cloud of chaff and the grain dropped into the sacks waiting for it,
ministered to his mental well-being by justifying his existence. He
had converted hundreds of acres of desert into fertile farm land. All
his life he had been a producer of essentials for mankind. He found
in this, as many farmers do, a source of content. He was paying his
way in the world.
To-day Reed found the need of vindication. He was fonder of Betty
than he was of anything or anybody else in the world, and he knew
that he was at the bar of her judgment. She did not approve of what
he had done. This would not have troubled him greatly if he had
been sure that he approved of it himself. But like many willful men he
sometimes had his bad quarter of an hour afterward.
It was easy enough to make excuses. The Diamond Bar K had been
troubled a good deal by vagrants on the transcontinental route. They
had robbed the smokehouse only a few weeks before. A gang of
them had raided the watermelon patch, cut open dozens of green
melons, and departed with such ripe ones as they could find.
Naturally he had been provoked against the whole breed of them.
But he had been too hasty in dealing with the young scamp he had
thrashed. Clint writhed under an intolerable sense of debt. The boy
had fought him as long as he could stand and take it. He had gone
away still defiant, and had rescued Betty from a dangerous situation.
Dragged back at a rope’s end to the ranch by the luckless Dusty, he
had scornfully departed before Reed had a chance to straighten out
with him this added indignity. The owner of the Diamond Bar K felt
frustrated, as though the vagabond had had the best of him.
He was not even sure that the severe punishment he had meted out
to the other tramps had been wise. The man Cig had endured the
ordeal unbroken in spirit. His last words before he crept away had
been a threat of reprisal. The fellow was dangerous. Clint read it in
his eyes. He had given orders to Betty not to leave the ranch for the
next day or two without an escort. Yet he still felt uneasy, as though
the end of the matter had not come.
It was now thirty hours since he had last seen the hoboes. No doubt
they were hundreds of miles away by this time and with every click of
the car wheels getting farther from the ranch.
He rode back to the stable, unsaddled, and walked to the house.
Betty was in the living-room at the piano. She finished the piece,
swung round on the stool, and smiled at him.
“Everything fine and dandy, Dad?”
His face cleared. It was her way of telling him that she was ready to
forgive and be forgiven.
“Yes.” Then, abruptly, “Reckon I get off wrong foot first sometimes,
honey.”
He was in a big armchair. She went over to him, sat down on his
knees, and kissed him. “’S all right, Dad,” she nodded with an effect
of boyish brusqueness. Betty, too, had a mental postscript and
expressed it. “It’s that boy. Nothing to do about it, of course. He
wouldn’t let me do a thing for him, but—Oh, well, I just can’t get him
off my mind. Kinda silly of me.”
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