He cast his eyes ceilingward, flopping his hands down loosely to the table in an attitude of mock exhaustion.
"Oh, Lord, Bloss, lemme whistle it, maybe you can catch on the. Brains, honey, little Hal's brains is what got that letter there written. I seen this coming from the minute conscription was in the air. Little Hal seen it coming, and got out his little hatchet. Try to prove that I ain't the sole one to take charge of my mother's affairs. Try to prove it. That's what I been fixing for myself these two months, try to—"
"Sh-h-h-h, Charley—"
"Brains is what done it,—every little thing of my mother's is in my care. I fixed it. Now little Blossy-blossum will you be good?"
He regarded her with cocked head and face receptive for her approval.
"Now will you be good!"
She sat loosely, meeting his gaze, but her face as relaxed as her attitude. A wintry stare had set in.
"Oh," she said, "I see." And turned away her head.
He reached closer across the table, regardless of the conglomerate diners about, felt for her hand which lay limp and cold beside her plate, and which she withdrew.
"Darling," he said, straining for her gaze.
"Don't, Hal."