She dropped her eyelashes—though with a bit of instinctive coquetry in them—under his straight-thrusting glance.
"Well, I suppose professional care would be better than anything I could do for him ... but," sweetly, "I'll drop in from time to time to see if there's any little thing I can do."
Deprived of the loving care of Emily Jenkins, though he called for her many times, my father mended his condition rapidly. And, after a long, mysterious conference with Hartman and other members of his fraternal order, he consented to allow himself to be sent West on a visit. But not till they had promised to keep his job as foreman in the Composite Works, open for him, till he was well enough to come back.
After I had seen my father off, I stayed in the silent rooms only long enough to pack up my books, which I left in care of Hartman.
I had at last arrived at a definite plan of action.
My grandfather was transacting some sort of business in Washington, as my uncle, Jim, had informed me. There he was living in affluence, married again, in his old age ... just like his former wife.
I had evolved a scheme which seemed to me both clever and feasible, by which to extract from him a few hundred or a thousand dollars with which to prosecute my studies further, and enter, eventually, say, Princeton or Harvard ... perhaps Oxford.
I found my grandfather holding forth in a swell suite of offices in the business district of Washington.