“Why no!” exclaimed Barnes. “Why—that doesn’t seem possible!”
“If he continues to pull himself together at this rate, it’s coming. All I’m wondering about is if he isn’t even now playing possum.”
“Why should he do that?”
“I’m not saying that he is, mind you. But it wouldn’t surprise me if some day he surprised the rest of you.”
“But look here—this is serious. If once he sees me—”
“Even then he might not recognize you. He isn’t as alert mentally as he used to be; his new joy in life would force back every doubt; your acceptance here by Aunt Philomela and Eleanor—”
“But Good Heavens that would mean a terrible crash in prospect. I can’t stay on here forever.”
“It’s too much for me, my boy,” the doctor answered soberly.
“But if he can see now, why doesn’t he say so?”
“These old men get strange whims. Perhaps he’s waiting to make sure of his sight so as not to disappoint the others by raising their hope. Or it may be just an old man’s joke.”