"Your father and Frank seem to be great friends," observed he, presently, and I fancied a little bitterly.
"Yes," I replied, "Captain Forrester has quite picked father's spirits up. He has been a different man since he had him to sympathize with over his pet schemes."
I felt directly I had said the words that they were inconsiderate words, and I regretted them, but I could not take them back.
Squire Broderick flushed over his fair, white brow.
"Yes; my nephew professes to be as keen after all these democratic dodges as your father himself," he said, curtly.
"Oh, it's not that," cried I, anxious to mend matters. "Father doesn't need to have everybody agree with him for him to be friends with them."
"No, I quite understand," answered the squire, beginning again on the unlucky basket. And after a pause he added, as though with an effort, "Frank is a very delightful companion, I know, and when he brings his enthusiasm to bear upon subjects that are after one's own heart, it is naturally very pleasant."
"Yes," I agreed. "That's just it, he is so very enthusiastic. He would make such a splendid speaker, such a splendid leader of some great Democratic movement."
The squire left my work-basket in the muddle in which he had finally put it, and stuck his hands into his pockets.
"Do you think so?" he said.