He took his place at the stately table so gravely and quietly that his parent’s interest was at once wakened. His father smiled quietly at him across the board.
“Well, Ned,” he asked at last. “What is it to-day?”
“Nothing very much. A very close call, though, to real tragedy. I might as well tell you about it, as likely enough it’ll be in the papers to-morrow. I went into a bad skid at Fourth and Madison, hit a jitney, and before we got quite stopped managed to knock a girl over on the pavement. Didn’t hurt her a particle. But there’s a hundred dollars’ damage to the jit—and a pretty severe scare for your young son.”
As he talked, his eyes met those of his father, almost as if he were afraid to look away. The older man made little comment. He went on with his dessert, and soon the talk veered to other matters.
There hadn’t been any kind of a scene, after all. It was true that his father looked rather drawn and tired,—more so than usual. Perhaps difficult problems had come up to-day at the store. His voice had a peculiar, subdued, quiet note that wasn’t quite familiar. Ned felt a somber heaviness in the air.
He did not excuse himself and hurry away as he had hoped to do. He seemed to feel that to make such an offer would precipitate some impending issue that he had no desire to meet. His father’s thoughts were busy; both his wife and his son missed the usual absorbingly interesting discourse that was a tradition at the Cornet table. The older man finished his coffee, slowly lighted a long, sleek cigar, and for a moment rested with elbows on the table.
“Well, Ned, I suppose I might as well get this off my chest,” he began at last. “Now is as auspicious a time as any. You say you got a good scare to-day. I’m hoping that it put you in a mood so that at least you can give me a good hearing.”
The man spoke rather humbly. The air was electric when he paused. Ned leaned forward.
“It wasn’t anything—that accident to-day,” he answered in a tone of annoyance. “It could have happened to any one on slippery pavements. But that’s ridiculous—about a good hearing. I hope I always have heard everything you wanted to tell me, sir.”
“You’ve been a very attentive son.” Godfrey Cornet paused again. “The trouble, I’m afraid, is that I haven’t been a very attentive father. I’ve attended to my business—and little else—and now I’m paying the piper.