Turning, Eddring caught her by the hand, his face flushed.
"Mother!" he cried, "I thought it was the clerk."
"Why, John," repeated Mrs. Eddring, "I didn't know that you ever swore."
"I don't, mother, except sometimes. The fact is—well, today I just had to."
"You were thinking of something else."
"Well, yes. I beg your pardon. I was just feeling pretty good over the way business matters were going, and—well, the truth is, I was just a little—well, a little exuberant, you know."
Mrs. Eddring seated herself and looked about her at the dingy little office, which ever seemed to her poor housing for one who, in her belief, was the greatest man in all the world.
"I beg your pardon, John," said she, "for intruding in your business hours, but I was down-town to-day, and I thought I would just drop in to see you." She gazed at him keenly, noting with a mother's eye the worn look on his face.
"I don't think you've been looking well lately, John," said she.
"Does your arm still trouble you?"
"Why, of course not, it's all well. Why, I'm feeling fine, fine! You and I ought to be feeling well these days, for you know we have just finished paying for our house, and everything is looking perfectly splendid all around. You didn't know I had a raise in my salary last month, did you?" He turned his back, as he said this last, that his mother might not discover on his face so palpable a falsehood.