“No; I told you everything there was about father yesterday,” she said. “I 'm sure you can't lack of things to put in; why, father lived a hundred years—and longer, too, for he was a hundred years and six days, you remember.”
“You know,” said Holt, “there are a great many things that are very interesting to a man's immediate friends that don't interest the public.” And he looked to Mr. Small for confirmation.
“Yes, that 's so,” said Mr. Small, nodding wisely.
“But, you see, father was a centenarian,” said Maria, “and so that makes everything about him interesting. It's a lesson to the young, you know.”
“Oh, yes, that's so,” said Mr. Small, “if a man lives to be a centurion.”
“Well, you all knew our good friend,” said Mr. Holt. “If any of you will suggest anything, I shall be very glad to put it in.”
Nobody spoke for a moment.
“There's one interesting thing,” said one of the sons, a little old man much like his father; “that is, that none of his children have ever gone meandering off; we've all remained”—he might almost have said remained seated—“all our lives, right about him.”
“I will allude to that,” said Mr. Holt. “I hope you have something else, for I am afraid of running short of material: you see I am a stranger here.”
“Why, I hope there won't be any trouble about it,” said Maria, in sudden consternation. “I was a little afraid to give it out to so young a man as you, and I thought some of giving the preference to Father Cobb, but I did n't quite like to have it go out of the village, nor to deprive you of the opportunity; and they all assured me that you was smart. But if you 're feeling nervous, perhaps we 'd better have him still; he 's always ready.”