Several times Mrs. Snow would have questioned Albert concerning the life at school, but each time her husband interfered.
“Not now, not now, Mother,” he said. “The boy ain't goin' to run away to-night. He'll be here to-morrow and a good many to-morrows, if”—and here again Albert seemed to detect the slight sarcasm and the twinkle—“if we old-fashioned 'down easters' ain't too common and every-day for a high-toned young chap like him to put up with. No, no, don't make him talk to-night. Can't you see he's so sleepy that it's only the exercise of openin' his mouth to eat that keeps his eyes from shuttin'? How about that, son?”
It was perfectly true. The long train ride, the excitement, the cold wait on the station platform and the subsequent warmth of the room, the hearty meal, all these combined to make for sleepiness so overpowering that several times the boy had caught his nose descending toward his plate in a most inelegant nod. But it hurt his pride to think his grandfather had noticed his condition.
“Oh, I'm all right,” he said, with dignity.
Somehow the dignity seemed to have little effect upon Captain Zelotes.
“Um—yes, I know,” observed the latter dryly, “but I guess likely you'll be more all right in bed. Mother, you'll show Albert where to turn in, won't you? There's your suitcase out there in the hall, son. I fetched it in from the barn just now.”
Mrs. Snow ventured a protest.
“Oh, Zelotes,” she cried, “ain't we goin' to talk with him at ALL? Why, there is so much to say!”
“'Twill say just as well to-morrow mornin', Mother; better, because we'll have all day to say it in. Get the lamp.”
Albert looked at his watch.