"No, he is well; as well as you are," he answered, glancing toward his wife, as if asking her aid.
"Then what is the matter? I know you are keeping something from me?" I persisted.
"There is nothing the matter; or nothing you could help one way or the other," he answered, his embarrassment growing greater.
"Tell me what it is, then?" I cried, feeling sure he was hiding something from me.
"There, don't get excited, my son. It's nothing, I'm sure, if the truth were known," he answered, floundering about in his speech.
"Nothing!" I answered, forgetting myself and laying hold of his arm. "What is it, then?"
"It's nothing bad, anyway," he replied, sweat starting from his forehead; "only a bit queer, maybe, but that's all."
"What is it that's queer?" I exclaimed, ready to fly at his throat, so great was my rage at his continued attempt to evade my inquiry.
"Strange, I had better have said," he answered, closing his mouth as if nothing would induce him to say more.
"What's strange?" I persisted. "Whatever it is, I am sure Uncle Job would want me to know."