Jed replaced his hat, pulling it low to hide his eyes.
"Ain't I proud to be your daddy?" he whispered.
An overwhelming pride—a pride raised to the nth degree, of the sort that is above the understanding of most men—was in the tone timbre of the question.
They went on into the house.
"Jed," VB said, as though he had waited to broach something of great import, "I've written a letter this morning, and I want to read it to you, just to see how it sounds out loud."
He sat down in a chair and drew sheets of small tablet paper toward him.
Jed, without answer, leaned against the table and waited. VB read:
"My Dear Father:
"I am writing merely to say that I know you were right and I was wrong.
"I am in a new life, where men do big, real things which justify their own existence. I am finding myself. I am getting that perspective which lets me see just how right you were and how wrong I was.