The old man was hurt.
"Have you thought over all?" he asked. "You wouldn't be the only gainer."
He glanced down at his arm, which still bore marks of sailor's tattooing, and at his hard hands all day in service at the loom; and then he sighed, as if despairing of rest.
"I know, dear father," said his daughter. "Mr. Hounshell would be very generous to you, so I wish I could do it. But oh, I can't, I can't!"
She put one hand on his arm and looked piteously into his face.
"I see how it is," said Scofield. "You have fixed your fancy on Jonah."
Addie softly moved away. All her color had returned, but she said nothing. They had barely seated themselves at the table when a knock was heard.
"Come in!" cried Addie, and on the entrance of the new-comer, "Oh—Jonah!"
"Did you think it was—well, never mind who."
Jonah, in whose spruce attire, as he now presented himself, it was not easy to recognize the brakeman of the afternoon train, made this enigmatical remark rather uneasily, and subsided into regretful silence.