“An' I kinda looked a little some good to you?” he queried. “I thought so, and my eyesight has always been good.”
“Say!” Billy went off at a tangent. “By next winter, with everything hummin' an' shipshape, what's the matter with us makin' a visit to Carmel? It'll be slack time for you with the vegetables, an' I'll be able to afford a foreman.”
Saxon's lack of enthusiasm surprised him.
“What's wrong?” he demanded quickly.
With downcast demurest eyes and hesitating speech, Saxon said:
“I did something yesterday without asking your advice, Billy.”
He waited.
“I wrote to Tom,” she added, with an air of timid confession.
Still he waited—for he knew not what.
“I asked him to ship up the old chest of drawers—my mother's, you remember—that we stored with him.”