“Your sister and brothers will see you,” said Grey hastily, to avoid embarrassing details. “HE won't be here for an hour. But I'd advise you to make the most of your time, and get the good-will of your sister.” He would have drawn back to let the prodigal pass in alone, but the man appealingly seized his arm, and Grey was obliged to re-enter with him. He noticed, however, that he breathed hard.
They turned slightly towards their relative, but did not offer to shake hands with him, nor did he with them. He sat down sideways on an unoffered chair. “The old house got burnt!” he said, wiping his lips, and then drying his wet hair with his handkerchief.
As the remark was addressed to no one in particular it was some seconds before the elder brother replied: “Yes.”
“Almira's growed.”
Again no one felt called upon to answer, and Almira glanced archly at the young editor as if he might have added: “and improved.”
“You've done well?” returned one of the brothers tentatively.
“Yes, I'm all right,” said Jim.
There was another speechless interval. Even the conversational Grey felt under some unhallowed spell of silence that he could not break.
“I see the old well is there yet,” said Jim, wiping his lips again.
“Where dad was once goin' to chuck you down for givin' him back talk,” said the younger brother casually.