“Well, Phil?” said he, shooting from beneath the bushy overhanging eyebrows a keen glance of inquiry.
“I—I wanted to have a little talk with you, sir,” returned Phil, a bit embarrassed. “Are you very busy?”
“No. Fire ahead, my lad.”
“It’s about our—our family affairs,” continued the visitor, haltingly.
“What about them, Phil?”
“Why, I know nothing as to how we stand, sir. No one has told me anything and I’ve been too thoughtless to inquire. But, I ought to know, Mr. Ferguson—oughtn’t I?”
The judge nodded.
“You ought, Phil. I’ve been going to speak of it, myself, but waited to see if you wouldn’t come here of your own accord. You, or Phœbe. In fact, I rather expected Phœbe.”
“You’re not a very practical youth, Phil. They say you’re a student, and are trying for honors at the high school graduation next month. Also, you’re the pitcher of the baseball team, and stroke oar for the river crew. These things occupy all your time, it seems, as well they may.”