Barnes arose.
“Father,” he said, “I will come up again—after Carl arrives.”
Whereupon he retired. To all intents and purposes it was a retreat.
CHAPTER XVI
JOHN GIVES HIS NOTICE
Aunt Philomela was waiting breakfast in no very good humor. On the previous evening, she had sat up for an hour listening to the unintelligible hum of her niece’s voice without being able to catch a word of what she said. And when Miss Van Patten had finally stolen into the room, Aunt Philomela had found little relief in her questioning. The remainder of the night she had made a martyr of herself. She dreamed that Eleanor had run away with a ne’er do well artist, deserting her poor old aunt and her sick father. Then, in her dream, Mr. Van Patten had died, thereby leaving her a lonely, heart-broken old woman finding what solace she might in consecrating her life to the poor of the village. And that, after all, was a poor sort of consolation.
So when Aunt Philomela came down she was in no mood to be trifled with. Yet it was just this inopportune moment that John chose to explode a bomb-shell at her feet.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” he stammered, “but I wishes to give my notice.”
“You—what?” she cried.
“I wishes to give my notice,” he repeated with more self-assertiveness than she had ever suspected was in the man.
Aunt Philomela plumped herself down in a chair and folded her hands in her lap.