"George," he said, quietly. "Since I've been living with you we've never started quarrelling, and I don't intend to; but I mean to go on with this. I'm an old man and I'm determined to test that new theory. It is in my own interests and in the interests of science. If you object, say so—and I'll leave the house this very night."
"You aren't serious, Gran'pa . . . ?"
"I mean every word."
"Then there's no more to be said. Naturally, though, I don't like disturbances of this sort. It's not pleasant to come home and find one's housekeeper in hysterics, Molly half off her head with excitement, yourself capering about like a lad of ten, the cat rampant and distracted, the kitchen turned into a menagerie, and pieces of my best china flying about like shells in a bombardment."
"You needn't worry about the last. I can easily replace the crockery—if that's your main grievance."
"Not at all! But you must admit . . ."
"I'll admit anything and apologize for it, if necessary. But I won't be dictated to."
"I'm sorry, Gran'pa. . . ."
"That's all right, my boy. Only, don't let us squabble about this most unfortunate mishap."
He gazed wistfully at the dark branches of the walnut tree, where his hope of rejuvenation was perched in security and ease.