Albert, without another word, walked to the hat-rack in the hall and began putting on his coat. Captain Lote watched him for a moment and then put on his own.
“We'll be back to dinner, Mother,” he said. “Heave ahead, Al, if you're ready.”
There was little conversation between the pair during the half mile walk to the office and yards of “Z. Snow and Co., Lumber and Builders' Hardware.” Only once did the captain offer a remark. That was just as they came out by the big posts at the entrance to the driveway. Then he said:
“Al, I don't want you to get the idea from what happened at the table just now—that foolishness about Rachel Ellis—that your grandmother ain't a sensible woman. She is, and there's no better one on earth. Don't let that fact slip your mind.”
Albert, somewhat startled by the abruptness of the observation, looked up in surprise. He found the gray eyes looking down at him.
“I noticed you lookin' at her,” went on his grandfather, “as if you was kind of wonderin' whether to laugh at her or pity her. You needn't do either. She's kind-hearted and that makes her put up with Rachel's silliness. Then, besides, Rachel herself is common sense and practical nine-tenths of the time. It's always a good idea, son, to sail one v'yage along with a person before you decide whether to class 'em as A. B. or just roustabout.”
The blood rushed to the boy's face. He felt guilty and the feeling made him angrier than ever.
“I don't see why,” he burst out, indignantly, “you should say I was laughing at—at Mrs. Snow—”
“At your grandmother.”
“Well—yes—at my grandmother. I don't see why you should say that. I wasn't.”