“Oh, I guess no one here would mind, Joe. Will you have some of these canned peaches?”
“Just a nibble, Sis—just a nibble. I’ve made out pretty well. You can make as good bread as ever, Momsey!”
“I’m glad you like it, Joe. Your father thinks there’s nothing like home-made bread.”
“That’s where dad shows his good judgment. Quite discriminating on dad’s part, I’m sure. Yes, indeed!”
“Oh, Joe, you’re so—so different!” said Clara, looking at her brother sharply.
“In what way, Sis?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, slowly. “I suppose it’s—the college influence.”
“Well, a fellow can’t live at Yale, even for a short time, without absorbing something different from the usual life. It’s an education in itself just to go there if you never opened a book. It’s a different world.”
“And I wish you had stayed there!” burst out Mrs. Matson, with sudden energy. “Oh, I don’t like you to be a professional ball player! It’s no profession at all!”