The meal passed quietly and a little sadly. Try as I would, it seemed impossible to shake off the air of anxiety which had settled on us.
But the next morning everyone was bright and cheerful again. It may have been due to the bustle and excitement—and the really excellent breakfast which Nanny had prepared for us.
Gran'pa and I went to Dr. Croft's in a taxi, and Alfred arrived an hour or so later in a Ford van—after which I bade the old man good-bye and good luck.
"Don't let Molly worry over me, George," he said. "Everything will turn out all right in the end. I can feel it. 'Phone up Dr. Croft to-morrow and drop in to see me the day after. You won't know me! . . . Au revoir!"
I returned home. The day dragged slowly by; so did the morning of the next.
At one o'clock I rang up Dr. Croft.
"Well?" I asked, as soon as I heard his voice. "How is the old chap?"
"Excellent! He refused at first to believe that the operation had been performed. I never met such a man. Now he's actually asking for his pipe."
"That sounds healthy! No danger of a relapse, I suppose?"
"Practically none. The anæsthetic was the only risk at his age."