Jed, his face very red, stared from the check to Jack and from Jack to the check. Then a queer twinkle came into his eye.
“Oh, all right,” he said, “if you feel that way.”
“I do,” said Jack, “an’ so does Mary,” and he watched until Jed had folded the check and placed it in his pocket. “Now,” he went on, with a sigh of relief, “I feel better. O’ course you’ll stay t’ supper?”
“O’ course I will,” answered Jed, promptly, and Mary bustled away to prepare the meal.
And when it was served, half an hour later, Jed was given the place of honour between Jack and Allan, with Mamie and Mary across from him.
“Well,” he said, looking around at the smoking dishes, "this reminds me of old times, afore I pulled up stakes an’ went West. I was born in New Hampshire, an’ didn’t know when I was well off, an’ so run away like so many fool boys do. I ain’t had a home since—an’ I’ve never had th’ nerve t’ go back thar an’ face my old mother that I deserted like that. You see, I jest want t’ show you what a good-fer-nothin’ skunk I am."
“You’ve got a home right here, if you want it,” said Mary, quickly, out of the depths of her heart.
Jed cleared his throat once or twice before he found the voice to answer.
“Mrs. Welsh,” he said, “I’m a-goin’ back now, jest as fast as a train kin take me. I wanted t’ come over fust an’ say good-bye t’ th’ kid. He’s clear grit. But I won’t never fergit them words o’ yours.”
At last he pushed his chair back from the table and rose.