“You'll remember,” he observed, “or perhaps you don't know, that when your father asked us to look out for you—”
Albert interrupted. “Did—did father ask you to take care of me?” he cried, in surprise.
“Um-hm. He asked somebody who was with him to ask us to do just that.”
The boy drew a long breath. “Well, then,” he said, hopelessly, “I'll—I'll try.”
“Thanks. Now you run around town and see the sights. Dinner's at half past twelve prompt, so be on hand for that.”
After his grandson had gone, the captain, hands still in his pockets, stood for some time looking out of the window. At length he spoke aloud.
“A play actor or a poetry writer!” he exclaimed. “Tut, tut, tut! No use talkin', blood will tell!”
Issachar, who was putting coal on the office fire, turned his head.
“Eh?” he queried.
“Nothin',” said Captain Lote.