The tears of weakness came into the young man’s eyes.
Uncle William’s gaze was fixed on space. “You’ve been foolish,” he said—“turrible foolish. I don’t doubt she wants to marry you this minute.”
“She shall not do it.” He spoke almost fiercely.
“There, there,” said Uncle William, soothingly, “I wouldn’t make such a fuss about it. Nobody’s goin’ to marry you ’thout you want ’em to. You jest quiet down and go to sleep. We’ll talk it over when I come back.”
XI
When he returned the artist was awake. His eyes had a clearer look.
Uncle William surveyed them over the top of his parcels. “Feelin’ better?” he said.
“Yes.”
He carried the parcels into the next room, and the artist heard him pottering around and humming. He came out presently in his shirt-sleeves. His spectacles were mounted on the gray tufts. “I’ve got a chowder going’,” he said. “You take another pill and then you’ll be about ready to eat some of it, when it’s done.”