“He is doing work, real work, now, father,” interposed Miss Maggie quickly. “He’s having a woeful time, too. If you’d only help him, now, and show him those papers.”
A real terror came into Mr. Smith’s eyes, but Mr. Duff was already on his feet.
“Well, I shan’t,” he observed tartly. “I’M not a fool, if he is. I’m going out to the porch where I can get some air.”
“There, work as long as you like, Mr. Smith. I knew you’d rather work by yourself,” nodded Miss Maggie, moving the piles of papers nearer him.
“But, good Heavens, how do you stand—” exploded Mr. Smith before he realized that this time he had really said the words aloud. He blushed a painful red.
Miss Maggie, too, colored. Then, abruptly, she laughed. “After all, it doesn’t matter. Why shouldn’t I be frank with you? You couldn’t help seeing—how things were, of course, and I forgot, for a moment, that you were a stranger. Everybody in Hillerton understands. You see, father is nervous, and not at all well. We have to humor him.”
“But do you mean that you always have to tell him to do what you don’t want, in order to—well—that is—” Mr. Smith, finding himself in very deep water, blushed again painfully.
Miss Maggie met his dismayed gaze with cheerful candor.
“Tell him to do what I don’t want in order to get him to do what I do want him to? Yes, oh, yes. But I don’t mind; really I don’t. I’m used to it now. And when you know how, what does it matter? After all, where is the difference? To most of the world we say, ‘Please do,’ when we want a thing, while to him we have to say, ‘Please don’t.’ That’s all. You see, it’s really very simple—when you know how.”
“Simple! Great Scott!” muttered Mr. Smith. He wanted to say more; but Miss Maggie, with a smiling nod, turned away, so he went back to his work.