She was tall, nearly as tall as Bonbright, and she favored her father. Not that the granite was there. She was not beautiful, not even pretty—but you liked her looks. Bonbright liked her looks.
At table Bonbright was seated facing Hilda Lightener. His father at once took charge of the conversation, giving the boy a breathing space to collect and appraise his impressions. Presently Mr. Foote said, impressively:
"This is an important day in our family, Lightener. My son entered the business this morning."
Lightener turned his massive, immobile face toward the boy, his expression not inviting, yet the seeing might have marked the ghost of a twinkle in his gray eyes.
"Um…. Any corrections, amendments, or substitutions to offer?" he demanded.
Bonbright looked at him, obviously not comprehending the sarcasm.
"Most young spriggins I take into MY business," said Lightener, "think a whole day's experience equips them to take hold and make the whole thing over…. They can show me where I'm all wrong."
Bonbright smiled, not happily. He was not accustomed to this sort of humor, and did not know how to respond to it.
"It was so big," he said. "It sort of weighed me down—yet—somehow I didn't get interested till after the whistle blew."
Lightener grunted.