"You 're quite sure you want me?" asked Peter Bell.
"Quite sure," replied Murray Townsend. The two pairs of eyes looked into each other.
Peter's gaze shifted to his father. "I 'll do it under one condition," he said. "That father gives up factory work and goes to live at the old farm."
Mr. Harrison Townsend turned also toward Mr. Joseph Bell. He smiled slightly, noting the hesitation of the other man.
"It's time you and I retired, Bell," said he. "I 've been getting to the point for a long time. Let's make a bargain of it. If you 'll go back to the farm, I 'll come and spend a good share of my time there. I 'd like to help with the haying. I should enjoy watching the cows come home. I 'll venture to say I could drive a mowing-machine--for an hour or two."
The four men occupied the small rear porch of the house in Gay Street, looking out on Nancy's garden. Peter lay upon a couch, his leg in splints, his hands in bandages. After a few days at the hospital he had been brought home, to spend the long hours of his recovery where he could bear them best. The other three were close by, Murray nearest. He had put off making his proposition to Peter until he and his father could arrive at a perfect agreement as to every term of the offer.
Joseph Bell met his son's meaning gaze with understanding. He knew nothing counted with Peter as did the anxiety over his father's physical condition. He had kept his boy a long time upon the rack, because of his own unwillingness to give up his old work. But the work was taken away from him now; there would be a considerable interval before the Armstrongs would be ready for him again; and he could hardly think of trying for a new position. Meanwhile, the haying season was approaching. He thought with longing of the scent of the newly cut grass. He could not work hard out under the sun, he knew that; but--he could play at work. And his friend, Harrison Townsend, rich man though he was, was offering to play, too.
He looked at Peter and smiled, under his short gray beard. Peter smiled back entreatingly. Slowly Joseph Bell nodded. "All right, Peter," he said. "I'll let you have your way at last."
For a moment Peter could not speak. He lay with dropped eyelids, fighting lest the sudden relief from the long strain should unman him before these who had been paying tribute to his manhood. But after a short space he looked from Mr. Townsend to his son.
"I 'll come," said he, and forgetting his bandaged hands, started to hold one out. Then he smiled whimsically, and added in an odd tone, "If you 're not afraid of the bad omen in taking on a man with a pair of hands like these?"