Joe paused in the mixing of gravy and corn-bread–designed to be conveyed to his mouth on the blade of his knife–and lifted inquiring eyes to his mother’s troubled face.
“No, son; we fixed it up,” said she.
“You fixed it up?” he repeated, his eyes beaming with pleasure. “Is he going to give us another chance?”
“You go on and eat your supper, Joe; we’ll talk it over when you’re through. Lands, you must be tired and hungry after workin’ so hard all afternoon!”
He was too hungry, perhaps, to be greatly troubled by her air of uneasiness and distraction. He bent over his plate, not noting that she sipped her coffee with a spoon, touching no food. At last he pushed back with a sigh of repletion, and smiled across at his mother.
“So you fixed it up with him?”
“Yes, I went into a dishonorable deal with Isom Chase,” said she, “and I don’t know what you’ll say when you hear what’s to be told to you, Joe.”
“What do you mean by ‘dishonorable deal’?” he asked, his face growing white.
“I don’t know what you’ll say, Joe, I don’t know what you’ll say!” moaned she, shaking her head sorrowfully.
“Well, Mother, I can’t make out what you mean,” said he, baffled and mystified by her strange behavior.