“All right, Mother, all right,” he observed. “I've been heavin' ile on the troubled waters and the sea's smoothin' down. She'll be kind and condescendin' enough to eat with us in a minute or so.”
She was. She came into the dining-room with the air of a saint going to martyrdom and the remainder of the meal was eaten by the quartet almost in silence. When it was over the captain said:
“Well, Al, feel like walkin', do you?”
“Why, why, yes, sir, I guess so.”
“Humph! You don't seem very wild at the prospect. Walkin' ain't much in your line, maybe. More used to autoin', perhaps?”
Mrs. Snow put in a word. “Don't talk so, Zelotes,” she said. “He'll think you're makin' fun of him.”
“Who? Me? Not a bit of it. Well, Al, do you want to walk down to the lumber yard with me?”
The boy hesitated. The quiet note of sarcasm in his grandfather's voice was making him furiously angry once more, just as it had done on the previous night.
“Do you want me to?” he asked, shortly.
“Why, yes, I cal'late I do.”