Esther was silent. Foster Townsend stretched his legs and jingled the change in his pocket.
“I see,” he observed, in a tone of understanding solicitude which made Bob long to choke him; “that’s it, eh? Well, now that’s the right way for you to feel and it’s gratifying, these days, to find young folks so thoughtful of their elders. What does—er—what does your grandfather say about it? Thinks you had better stay at home, does he?”
“I haven’t talked with him about it yet. Not since he was taken sick.”
“Oh, haven’t you? Well, you will, of course. And when you do I guess likely he will tell you to go just the same. A friend of mine here in Harniss met your Denboro doctor yesterday and he says the doctor told him that Cook would be as well as ever inside of a week. He wanted you to go in the first place, didn’t he?”
“He was willing I should go.”
“Then I guess he will be just as willing now. From what I hear he thinks the world of you and he wouldn’t let you do anything that would hurt you any more than you would do anything to hurt him. No, nor Esther here would to hurt me; eh, Esther?... But there, your business isn’t mine, as I know of. Hello, here’s Seymour! You two haven’t met yet, I guess.”
The hall door had opened and a young man entered the library. He was a dark-haired, dark-eyed young fellow, with good looks far beyond the ordinary, and he was dressed in a summer suit of light gray which fitted perfectly and was very becoming.
Foster Townsend rose from the easy-chair.
“Esther and I have been wondering what had become of you, Seymour,” he observed. “Been for a walk, have you?”
The young man smiled, showing teeth as perfect as the rest of him.