“No. Just showing me my duty. He’s a wise man, your father, Jimmie. Where he gets it from I don’t know. Sometimes he’s so wise it hurts. At least, it hurts foolisher folks like me. I’m coming to live at your house after Thursday.”
“I know,” said the boy with a queer constraint. “Mother told me.”
“Aren’t you glad?” asked Dad, wondering at the lad’s unusual tone.
“Yes,” said Jimmie briefly. “Of course I am. But I’m not glad for you. You’ll try not to mind too much the way mother acts, won’t you?”
“You mustn’t talk that way, son.”
“Oh, I’m not kicking at how she treats me. I like her a lot. Only she doesn’t seem to know what a brick you are. And it kind of riles me.”
“Oh, that’ll be all different now,” prophesied Dad. “She’s changed her mind about me. If she hadn’t, would she be wanting me to come up to the big house to live and to take charge of everything and look after you and her while Joe’s away, fighting for his country?”
“H-m!” observed the boy, non-committally.
“Of course she wouldn’t,” declared his grandfather. “We’ll have a good time up there, won’t we?”
“H-m!” repeated Jimmie.