"You've been sulking."
"Very well, then," said Kenny evenly, making use of his one weapon of composure, "let's concede that I've been sulking."
He was sorry instantly.
Infuriated, Adam brought his fist down upon the arm of his wheel-chair and, coughing, propelled himself up and down the room.
Kenny walked away to the window, sick with remorse. For the old man had coughed himself into gasping quiet. What could he do?
A wayward Irish tune, ludicrously fitting, danced into his head and made him smile.
"What shall I do with this silly old man?" whistled Kenny softly at the window.
"What's that?" demanded Adam suspiciously.
The insolence in his voice struck fire again. Kenny remembered his notebook and the hour of accounting. Never again would the forces Adam had revived sink into the quietude of his first days here at the farm.
"What's what?" he asked perversely.