Cannon approached the fire, and stood there looking up at the life-size portrait in oils of the late Cornelius Ryan, which hung over the chimneypiece. The artist had portrayed him as a thickly-whiskered man with the complexion of a healthy infant and eyes of baby blue. A watch chain, given him by his colleagues in the old days at Shasta, and formed of squares of quartz set in native gold, was painted with a finished carefulness which had pleased Mrs. Ryan even more than the likeness had done. In showing the picture, she was wont to say proudly, “Just look at the watch chain! Seems as if you could almost hear the ticking of the watch.”
Cannon was speculating as to the merits of the likeness when he heard the silken rustling of skirts, and turned to greet his old friend. She came in smiling, with extended hand, richly clad, the gleam of a fastening jewel at her neck. Her hair was dressed with a shining, smooth elaboration, drawn up tightly at the sides and arranged over her forehead in careful curls. As she and her visitor exchanged the first sentences of greeting he noticed that she looked much older and more worn than she had done the last time he had seen her, but her face was as full of pugnacious force as ever. While Delia Ryan’s body lived her spirit would hold its dominion. She had ruled all her life and would do so to the end.
They sat down on either side of the fire and the old man said,
“I don’t know whether I ought to be in here. The Chinaman left me to my fate, and I had to nose about myself and find out where I belonged.”
“Oh, that’s Lee,” she answered with a short laugh. “He waits on the door every other Sunday. We’ve had him ten years and no one’s ever been able to make him show people into the parlor. He thinks it better to leave them standing in the hall till one of us sees the card. Then he’ll go down and tell them as sociably as you please ‘to go right in and sit down.’ I asked him why he didn’t do it at first, and he said ‘they might steal something.’”
Cannon looked into the fire with an amused eye.
“I guess he thought I was after the spoons. It’s a dangerous habit, for I took the first turning to the right and butted into Cornelia and a young man who gave me to understand I’d come the wrong way around.”
“What did they say?” said the mother, her face stiffening with sudden disapproving surprise.
“They didn’t say anything. That was just it. They didn’t even see me. But they certainly led me to believe that I’d got somewhere where I wasn’t wanted. I may not be smart, but a hint doesn’t have to be much harder than the kick of a mule for me to see it.”
Mrs. Ryan looked at him consideringly.