That evening at the dinner table, George was so gay, so full of himself, so ready to laugh and make a joke that Mrs. Cutter was beside herself with pride and happiness.
“He is such a good boy, so unconscious of his good looks and his intellect,” she told Mr. Cutter when they were alone together after dinner.
“Intellect!” said Mr. Cutter in that tone of voice.
“Yes; you know how smart he is; but he is not the least conceited, just light-hearted and happy as he should be at his age. I say it shows he is a good boy.”
“Where is he now?” Mr. Cutter wanted to know.
The question appeared to Mrs. Cutter to be irrelevant. She said she did not know; why?
“Nothing,” answered her husband.
She said he was around somewhere, probably in his room. She went to the bottom of the stairs. “Georgie!” she called.
No answer. Well, then he must be out front somewhere, and went to prove that he was. But she could not find him. Then she came back and wanted to know of Mr. Cutter what difference did it make, if they did not know where he was? George was no longer a child. Couldn’t he trust his own son?
Oh, yes; in reason he could and did trust him. “But I’ll tell you one thing, Maggie,” he added, laying aside his paper and looking her squarely in the face, “George should get married.”