He heard her enter and looked up.
“Well!” he observed, with a slow shake of the head. “Well! here is another surprise package for me. Here is another thing you have been keeping from me, eh?”
“I couldn’t help it, Foster. Esther and I both thought it was best not to tell you. We were afraid you might be worried.”
“Humph! So you thought you would do all the worrying for the pair of us. That is like you, I must say. Did Esther write you? You said you had a letter—from her.”
“Mine wasn’t from her. Bob wrote me. But he said Esther insisted on writing you herself. She couldn’t write much of course—not yet. I suppose it wasn’t a long letter.”
“Not very.”
“But, Foster, isn’t it wonderful? It doesn’t seem as if it could be so, does it?”
He sniffed. “Why, I don’t know as it is so tremendously wonderful,” he replied. “About what was to be expected sometime or other, I should say.”
“But—but, Foster, did you read it all? Didn’t she write you about her—about their—about Mr. Cook?”
He turned the letter over. “Um-hum,” he grunted. “She wrote that Cook was in a pretty bad way and that he has asked to have his grandson come and see him.”