“No. But I’m going to have. As a rule, breakfasts are wholesome. Keeping your stomach quiet keeps your head clear. Things’ll look more natural after we’ve eat. Share mine?”
“No, I mustn’t. Mother would miss me and wonder.”
“You often do.”
“It’s better you share mine to-day. Then we must plan. I heard you say that about you and me together. Will you help me? Shall we prove it wasn’t true–to the rest of the world, I mean–as we know it? Shall we?”
“That’s the rest of my life-job, darlin’. We’ll begin it right away by getting a taste of Aunt Sally’s good victuals. I hate her picra doses, but her cooking beats the Dutch.”
“Afterward?”
“Afterward isn’t touched yet.”
Whether real or affected there had come a cheerfulness into the old man’s tone which it had lacked a few moments earlier. After all he was not useless. Who knew his California as he did? If it were true that money had been sent to Mr. Trent’s hands and was missing, then somewhere was a man who had appropriated it. Whoever and wherever he was, he should be found, and Ephraim Marsh was self-appointed so to find.
Jessica’s hand slipped under his arm, and her own face grew somewhat lighter as she walked beside him toward her own home, where Aunt Sally was keeping an anxious lookout and a most tempting breakfast.
“Bless you, Jessie! I’m glad you’ve come. Step right in, Ephy. Them muffins are so light they’ve nigh flown off the porch. Made with the eggs my hen-chicken laid, comin’ along from Boston. Smartest fowl in the country, and only one I ever owned would brood and lay at the same time. I wouldn’t take a fortune for that bird.”