“Well,” replied the dressmaker, smiling at her guest’s enthusiasm, “I can never thank you enough, and Nanette has been a great help to me.”
Avery felt for his tobacco, then changed his mind abruptly as he realized where he was. Conversation with Miss Wilkins was becoming embarrassing. He was afraid of doing what his daughter called simply “saying things” under stress of the emotion which was rapidly filling the void left by his late unburdening of his heart to the little dressmaker. The soothing influence of tobacco would have steadied him. She noticed his uneasiness and promptly invited him to smoke “all he wanted to.”
Avery’s appreciation of her courtesy was soon filling the room with curls and shreds of smoke, and, in keeping with his nature, it was a strong appreciation.
“There was one thing I wanted to speak about, Mr. Avery.” Miss Wilkins’s tone became more serious than heretofore. “Nanette is an attractive girl, and she’s seventeen.”
Avery nodded.
“And one or two of the young men have been seeing her home from school lately. I don’t mind that, of course,—Nanette is sensible,—but I thought I would speak about it. Young Andy Slocum seems quite interested in Nanette, and he’s wild at times, although he’s nice enough when he wants to be.”
“He’s a pow’ful good man on the drive—fur a young one,” replied Avery. “Got a heap of nerve, and cool fur a kid. Last spring he was hangin’ round my camp consid’able, makin’ hisself pleasant-like when the drive went through. Thought it was kind of queer that he should be int’rested in ole Hoss Avery. So it was Swickey he was thinkin’ of?”
“Oh, I don’t know how serious he is about it. You know young men—There’s Nanette now!”
Avery stood up as the shop doorbell clinked and jangled, and Swickey, breathless from her run across the street, cheeks rosy and brown eyes glowing, rushed to her father and flung her arms about him, kissing him again and again.
“Oh, Pop, I’m so glad you came to take me home. I couldn’t bear to think of you up there alone at Christmas-time.”