“What did you say?” he asked.
“I asked you if you thought you’d be elected this fall,” repeated Morgan, in mock seriousness.
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Joe, turning from him indifferently.
“Why, ain’t you runnin’ for President on the squash-vine ticket?” asked Morgan. “I heard you was the can’idate.”
Joe got up from the table and moved his chair away with his foot. As he was thus occupied he saw Ollie’s shadow on the wall repeat a gesture of caution which she made to Morgan, a lifting of the hand, a shaking of the head. Even the shadow betrayed the intimate understanding between them. Joe went over and stood in the door.
“No use for you to try to be a fool, Morgan; that’s been attended to for you already,” said he.
There wasn’t much heart in Morgan’s laugh, but it would pass for one on account of the volume of sound.
“Oh, let a feller have his joke, won’t you, Joe?” said he.
“Go ahead,” granted Joe, leaning his shoulder against the jamb, facing out toward the dark.
Morgan went over and put his hand on the great lad’s shoulder, with a show of friendly condescension.