"My eyes are like a young man's yet!" he stoutly maintained.
"You don't read much any more," charged Mama Schnitt.
"My glasses don't fit," he retorted to that.
"You changed them last winter," she insisted. "Now, papa, don't be foolish! You know your eyes got bad in Louis Ersten's dark workroom. You never tell lies. Say it!"
Heinrich struggled for a moment between his pride and his honesty.
"Well, maybe they ain't just so good as they was," he admitted.
"That's what I told Ersten," stated Johnny. "He's worried stiff about it! I think he'll move so you have a lighter workroom if you go back."
"When he moves I come."
"He won't move till you do."
"Then there is nothing," concluded Schnitt resignedly, and stooped over to pull another weed. "Mama, maybe Mr. Gamble likes some of that wine Carrie's husband made the year he died."