“This morning, Plato. He’s in New York now, I hope. He’s well, too, and—and——”
“I’se sho glad t’ heah it, suh,” said Plato and withdrew, still bowing.
Mr. Carter, with his mouth open, stared after him helplessly. He felt now that he should never get his news out unless some one shook it out of him! The colonel did not help him.
“So! Well, I’m glad William’s coming back. We’ve missed him. Judge Jessup was speaking of him last night. A fine fellow, he thinks him. By the way, Carter, Jessup gave me a young apple-tree last spring. There’s something the matter with it. I believe it’s got San José scale. Come here and look at it, will you?”
Mr. Carter trailed the colonel’s tall, thin figure across the lawn, and the two pointers came to meet them.
“Down, Jim! Down, Rover!” ordered the colonel, reaching the tree. “There—if you’ll look close along that lower limb—see?”
His visitor approached the limb indicated and stared at it moodily. Then he swallowed hard.
“Think it’s scale?” the colonel asked anxiously.
“Darned if I know!” said Mr. Carter violently. “Denbigh, I came to tell you—— The fact is, my son’s made an ass of himself. He——”
“Yes?” the colonel stood still, politely amazed. “Which son, Carter?”