Gertrude entered the room.
“Where are you, Daddy?” she asked.
“Here I am, over here by the window.”
“But why haven't you lighted the lamp? Why are you sitting here in the dark?”
Serena answered. “Goodness knows,” she replied. “Your father would insist on it. I think he is going crazy; he has acted that way ever since lunch.”
The demented one chuckled.
“You see, Gertie,” he explained, “'twas on account of my bashfulness. Your mother, she wanted to sit along with me and hold hands, so—. Oh, all right; all right. You can show a glim now, Serena, if you want to. I'll cover up my blushes.”
The maligned Mrs. Dott announced that she had a good mind to box his ears. “That's what I should do to a child,” she added, “and nobody could act more childish than you have this afternoon.”
“Second childhood, Serena. Second childhood and dodderin' old age are creepin' over me fast. There!” as the lamp blazed and the parlor was illuminated, “now you can see for yourself. Do I dodder much?”
Even Gertrude was obliged to laugh.