Jimmy's grandparents were, then, understandably aged seventy-eight and eighty-one.
The old couple had seen their life, and they knew it for what it was. They arose each morning and faced the day knowing that there would be no new problem, only recurrence of some problem long solved. Theirs was a comfortable routine, long gone was their spirit of adventure, the pleasant notions of trying something a new and different way. At their age, they were content to take the easiest and the simplest way of doing what they thought to be Right. Furthermore, they had lived long enough to know that no equitable decision can be made by listening to only one side of any argument.
While young Jimmy was polishing off a platter of scrambled eggs the following morning, Paul Brennan arrived. Jimmy's fork stopped in midair at the sound of Brennan's voice in the parlor.
"You called him," he said accusingly.
Grandmother Holden said, "He's your legal guardian, James."
"But—I don't—can't—"
"Now, James, your father and mother knew best."
"But they didn't know about Paul Brennan. I won't go!"
"You must."