“Yes—black hair, white face—black tie, white collar—looks like a parson, and like an Israelite, at the same time.”
“Oh, that's my uncle—Dr. Gedaza.”
“You don't say so! So he's come around, has he? Relented, and got reconciled? Well, I must go down stairs, and clasp his fist.”
“No; don't please. That is, I wouldn't if I were you. Better let him alone,” said Elias.
“Why, man alive, why not? Mustn't I do the honors of the house?”
“Yes; but he—he's sort of eccentric. I wouldn't pay any attention to him. It might get him started, you understand.”
“Oh, well, you know him, I suppose; and if you say so, all right. But it don't seem just the thing not to bid him welcome. You'll have to excuse me, any how, now. The guests are arriving right along, and I must be on deck to receive 'em.”
Old Redwood departed. Elias felt rather better—less feverish and excited, but somewhat dull and weak.
In a few minutes Redwood reappeared.
“Come,” he cried. “Chris is ready—waiting for ye.”