"And what did he say?"
"He told her he would n't—just as honest as if it was all so. That satisfied her and she shut her eyes again, and that was the way she went. 'Good-bye, Stevie, don't go and join the Rangers.'"
"He did n't usually tell her everything?" said Janet reflectively.
"Not till he saw fit. Old Steve was pretty much the same way. If it was anything she 'd worry about, he 'd do it first. Then sometime when it was all over, he 'd let the cat out of the bag. The old man sort of spoiled her; and Steve just naturally took hold the same way."
"They always did tell her, then?"
"Sooner or later."
"He struck me as a man that was—rather fond of his mother."
"He thought she could n't be beat. She pretty near run him and old Steve; they were two of a kind. They would n't 'a' dared to do anything if she was against it. I guess that was the reason they went ahead on their own hook on anything she might worry about. They were afraid she 'd say no, I guess."
"Then she really did have something to say, after all," suggested Janet.
"She twisted them around her finger pretty much as it was. And that's where Steve misses her. He's used to being run. He's lost. About a week after she was buried he took her picture down out of the parlor and hung it up nearer the kitchen where he could see it every day."