"Here, Ted! you open it," handing me a flagon of the widow Clicquot's special brew upon his re-entry. "I'll get the glasses."
"We have a waitress, Martin," was "Mother's" final protest.
With much coaxing, Mrs. Claybourne was induced to sip a little. Afterwards I noticed that she sipped it quite often when the rest of us were talking, until she gradually returned to an almost cheerful frame of mind. Mr. Claybourne's anecdotes and humorous stories increased in numbers; he sandwiched many toasts in between them: to "mother"; to Helen; to "happy days"; to the "young people"; to "rum—down with it," and like persiflage of an obvious nature. At each toast "mother" raised a feeble objection, less and less prolonged as time went on. We had another bottle, for Mr. Claybourne said "A quart among four is only a teaser—an aggravation." Once Helen risked taking my hand: "Be careful, Ted, won't you?" she whispered. I nodded. Mr. Claybourne saw us. "Ted is old enough to take care of himself, Helen," he admonished, winking at me. When the second bottle was emptied, Mr. Claybourne brought forth a humidor filled with large, black Havanas.
"Now, mother, we'll carry Helen into the living room, and Ted and I are going to sit here and talk business over our cigars." I started, and Helen's free foot lightly touched mine under the table. Mr. Claybourne was delighted with the effect of his dramatic announcement. His eyes twinkled as he watched us.
"I guess you thought the old man was asleep," he chuckled, as we picked Helen up. "I wasn't born yesterday."
"Can I stay, dad?" Helen asked.
"No, we'll attend to you later, young lady," and with this cryptic threat Helen was carried off. Of course things were not working out as I had planned, but I was beginning to get used to Fate's perversity.
"Light up, Ted," commanded Mr. Claybourne upon our return to the dining room. I obeyed; my hand was not so steady as I should have wished.
"Old man Tyler let slip something last night that has set me thinking, Ted," he continued, locking his hands behind his head and studying my face attentively. "So that was how the milk was spilt," I thought. "Of course, I must say a blind man could have told which way the wind blew," he added, with a reckless mixture of proverbs. There was a pause, during which I was trying to compose a suitable speech.
"Well, Ted, so you two kids imagine you're in love with each other?"