“Stop!” she protested. “I didn’t send for you to talk about your baby.”
“But, grandma, if you’d just let me bring him to see you——”
“I don’t want to hear anything about him, and I’ve only got one thing to say about him myself. You better not let him listen to his mother when he learns to talk, or to Harlan either—not if you want to save him from that affected Eastern way of talking. You’ve had enough to do with Eastern people, young man! You take care of yourself and have as little to do with ’em after this as you can manage. They may seem mighty fine and highty-tighty, and let you think it’s a great thing to be in with ’em, but all they’re after is to get something out of you; and after they’ve got it, they’ll give you the go-by quick enough! Now I haven’t got strength enough to talk very long, and I don’t want to talk any more about your baby.”
“All right,” he said submissively. “What do you want to talk about, grandma?”
She turned her head on the pillow to look at him; and it seemed to him that her eyes were vague, as if they found him indistinct;—she frowned plaintively in an effort to see him more clearly, and was silent for a time.
“It’s Dan, is it?” she said finally.
“Why, yes, grandma,” he answered in surprise. “We’ve just been talkin’ about the baby, grandma; and how much better you are and everything.”
“I know,” she returned with a feeble petulance. “I know what we’re talking about. I wanted you to come to-night because I want to tell you something.”
“Yes, grandma?”
“It’s this,” she said; then closed her eyes, and when she opened them, asked again: “Is it Dan?”