The word “business” had an effect. Mr. Cobb swung about in his chair and regarded her fixedly. There was a slight change in his tone.
“Business, hey?” he repeated. “Well, I'm a business man, ma'am. What sort of business is it you've got?”
Thankful did not answer the question immediately. Instead she walked nearer to the desk.
“Yes,” she said, slowly, “you're Solomon Cobb. I should know you anywhere now. And I ain't seen you for twenty year. I presume likely you don't know me.”
The man of business stared harder than ever. He took off his spectacles, rubbed them with his handkerchief, put them on and stared again.
“No, ma'am, I don't,” he said. “You don't live in Trumet, I know that. You ain't seen me for twenty year, eh? Twenty year is quite a spell. And yet there's somethin' sort of—sort of familiar about you, now that I look closer. Who be you?”
“My name is Thankful Barnes—now. It didn't used to be. When you knew me 'twas Thankful Cahoon. My grandmother, on my father's side, was your mother's own cousin. Her name was Matilda Myrick. That makes you and me sort of distant relations, Mr. Cobb.”
If she expected this statement to have the effect of making the little man more cordial she was disappointed. In fact, if it had any effect at all, it was the opposite, judging by his manner and expression. His only comments on the disclosure of kinship were a “Humph!” and a brief “Want to know!” He stared at Thankful and she at him. Then he said:
“Well?”
Mrs. Barnes was astonished.