“I am under the impression you mentioned it first,” said John Bennett. Ella did not remember having seen her father smile before.
“Perhaps I did,” said Dick cheerfully. “I knew you were interested in animal photography.”
He did not tell John Bennett that it was Ella who had first spoken about the difficulties of securing Zoo photographs and her father’s inability to obtain the necessary permission.
John Bennett went back to his labelling with a lighter heart than he had borne for many a day. He wrote the two slips, wetted the gum and hesitated. Then he laid down the papers and went into the garden.
“Ella, do you remember which of those boxes had the trout in?”
“The one in your right hand, daddy,” she said.
“I thought so,” he said, and went to finish his work.
It was only after the boxes were labelled that he had any misgivings. Where had he stood when he put them down? On which side of the table? Then, with a shrug, he began to wrap the trout picture, and they saw him carrying it under his arm to the village post-office.
“No news of Ray?” asked Dick.
The girl shook her head.