“The fact is, we've got to have a new kind of iron. Our rails are breaking down. They can't stand up under heavy loads and big engines. The country will have to poke along at twenty miles an hour until we can get something better. On our way we'll stop in New York and see the Commodore.”
I began to think of my mother and sister, who had come to live with me in Rushwater. He seemed to read my thoughts, for he added:
“You can take the folks to Albany if you like. They've never seen much of city life; I'm sure they'd like it; and, say, do you—do you suppose they'd be willing to put up with me for a boarder?”
“I'm sure they'd be glad to have you,” I said.
“Don't tell 'em that I spoke of it, but just propose the thing and see what they say. You can be frank with me. We ought to know each other well enough for that. I'm afraid you're just a little too much inclined to please me.”
“Not without provocation,” I remarked, having great respect for him.
“But I want you to find fault with me,” he went on; “I'm far from perfect. Just remember that I'm trying to improve myself. All that I know I picked up here and there. If you hear me say anything that doesn't sound right, I want you to tell me. I want you to look over me a little every day, and tell me if I dress and act as a gentleman ought to. You've seen how people do in New York.”
“I've often thought that I would speak to you about the color of your neckties,” I suggested, mildly. “You seem to like red as well as I do, but it is not the best form.”
He turned, blushing, and took from his pocket a twenty-dollar bill, and said: “I'm glad you spoke of it. Take this and go and get me some good ties in the morning. If you see anything that you think I need, buy it; my credit is good here. But there's another matter—my soul is feeling a bit shabby and ashamed of itself; it needs a little advice.”
“What's the trouble?” I asked.