To Mr. Grey's relief and yet astonishment, Jim burst into a loud laugh and rubbed his legs. “That's so—how old times DO come back!”
“And,” said the bright-eyed Almira, “there's that old butternut-tree that you shinned up one day when we set the hounds on you. Goodness! how you scooted!”
Again Jim laughed loudly and nodded. “Yes, the same old butternut. How you DO remember, Almira?” This admiringly.
“And don't you remember Delia Short?” continued Almira, pleased at the admiration, and perhaps a little exalted at the singular attention which the young editor was giving to those cheerful reminiscences. “She, you know, you was reg'larly sick after, so that we always allowed she kinder turned yo' brain afore you went away! Well! all the while you were courtin' her it appears she was secretly married to Jo—yo' friend—Jo Stacy. Lord! there was a talk about that! and about yo' all along thinkin' yo' had chances! Yo' friend here,” with an arch glance at Grey, “who's allus puttin' folks in the newspapers, orter get a hold on that!”
Jim again laughed louder than the others, and rubbed his lips. Grey, however, offered only the tribute of a peculiar smile and walked to the window. “You say your father will return in an hour?” he said, turning to the elder brother.
“Yes, unless he kept on to Watson's.”
“Where?” said Jim suddenly.
It struck Grey that his voice had changed—or rather that he was now speaking for the first time in his natural tone.
“Watson's, just over the bridge,” explained his brother. “If he went there he won't be back till ten.”
Jim picked up his India rubber cape and hat, said, “I reckon I'll just take a turn outside until he gets back,” and walked towards the door. None of his relatives moved nor seemed to offer any opposition. Grey followed him quickly. “I'll go with you,” he said.