Gertrude uttered an exclamation of delight.
“Splendid!” she cried. “Just what I wanted you to do. I thought of it, but I said nothing because I wanted you to say it first. It will be just the right thing.”
“Ye-es, so it seemed to me. All that's good here in this store is due to Nathaniel. He's made a real, live business out of a remains that was about ready for the undertaker. I ought to give him the whole craft, but—but I hate to.”
“You could. You could sell out to him and still have sufficient income to live upon in comfort here in Trumet. You might sell out, retire, and be a gentleman of leisure, one of the town's rich men. You could do that perfectly well.”
Daniel grunted in disgust.
“Don't talk that way,” he repeated. “I've had enough gentleman of leisure foolishness to last me through. What do you think I am; a second-hand copy of Cousin Percy, without the gilt edges? I might be kissin' Zuba by mistake if I did that.”
The story of that eventful evening and the “mistake” had been told him by his daughter since the return home. Gertrude smiled.
“I guess not,” she declared. “You are not in the habit of 'dining out'—in Trumet, at any rate. Have you told Mother?”
“Yes, I told her. I don't think she was much surprised. She'd guessed as much before, so I gathered from what she said.”
“No doubt; the explanation was obvious enough. Well, Daddy, I did not expect you would be contented to retire and do nothing. That is not your conception of happiness. But, if you do take Mr. Bangs into partnership, let him manage the entire business. You can be in the store as much as you wish, and be interested in it, so long as you don't interfere. And you and Mother can be together and take little trips together once in a while. You mustn't stay in Trumet ALL the time; if you do you will grow discontented again.”