“Mr. Colton,” I interrupted, “this is silly. Mother, the whole affair was more my fault than my good judgment. If I had anchored when it first happened we should have been home in an hour, instead of drifting all night.”
“Why didn't you anchor, then?” asked Colton.
“Because I—I—”
I stopped short. I could not tell him why I did not anchor. He laughed aloud.
“That's all right,” he said. “I guess Mabel's story is near enough to the truth for all practical purposes. Mrs. Paine,” with a sudden change to seriousness, “you can understand why I have come here this morning. If it had not been for your son's pluck, and cool head, and good judgment I—Mrs. Colton and I might have been—God knows in what state we might have been to-day! God knows! I can't think of it.”
His voice trembled. Mother put out a hand and took mine.
“Roscoe,” she said, “Roscoe.”
“So I came to thank him,” went on our visitor. “This isn't the first time he has done something of the sort. It seems almost as if he—But never mind that. I'm not going to be foolish. Your son and I, Mrs. Paine, have been fighting each other most of the summer. That's all right. It was a square fight and, until this newest freak of his—and he has got me guessing as to what it means—I admit I thought he was quite as likely to lick me as I was to lick him. I've watched him pretty closely and I am a pretty fair judge of a man, I flatter myself. Did he tell you that, a while ago, I offered him a place in my office?”
“In your office? You offered him that? No, he did not tell me. Roscoe!” reproachfully.
“I did not tell you, Mother, because it was not worth while. Of course I could not accept the offer.”