“Hey? No; no; now that you mention it I don't suppose he has. But it seems a lot longer than that to me.”
He sighed. Gertrude regarded him keenly. Unconscious of the regard he sat there, lost in thought, apparently forgetful of her presence. She reminded him by saying:
“Why does it seem longer?”
He started and looked up.
“Hey? Why?” he repeated. “Oh, I don't know. So many things have happened, I guess.”
“What kind of things?”
“All kinds. But there—tell me about yourself. How's college? And how's John? Land sakes! I ain't said a word about John, and he's about as important as anything on earth just now, or he ought to be. Guess you think I'm a selfish old pig, not to ask about him before this. How is he?”
“You couldn't be selfish if you tried, Daddy. You never knew how to be. John is well and very busy. He sent his love to you and Mother, and he hopes to run down here before very long and spend a few days with us.”
“Does, hey? That's good. I suppose YOU don't hope he'll come. Ha! ha! no, of course not. He's doin' all the hopin'.”
“Well, perhaps not all. But there, Daddy, don't waste time talking of John or me. I want to hear about you and about Mother, and how you like living in Scarford.”