“Wal, how be you, Dave? I’m a’mighty glad to see you ag’in.” His fist closed over David’s fingers vigorously.
“First rate, Avery. You’ve met Mr. Bascomb?”
“Ya-a-s,” replied the old man, shaking hands with Wallie, “I have. Dave’s been tellin’ me how you jined forces—goin’ to dig asbestos t’gither. Wal, they’s plenty of it to dig.”
“And how have you been?” asked David.
“Oh, middlin’—fur a Cyclocks,”—he glanced shrewdly at Bascomb,—“whatever thet be.”
Wallie flushed despite himself. He hesitated, and then, glancing at David, stepped up to Avery.
“See here, Mr. Avery, I know all about that letter having been lost and found by your daughter. I didn’t suppose you would ever see it, and I beg your pardon.”
“Ya-a-s,” replied Avery noncommittally.
Bascomb, taken aback by Avery’s cool acceptance of his apology, was tempted to let the matter drop right there; but the simple dignity of the old man, as he stood silently before them, awoke an impulse that he hastened to express.
“I want to apologize to your daughter also.”