“A good few.”
“How many? Twenty?”
“More than that. I lost count. A good few.”
“And you feel as well as ever?”
“I feel fine.”
Mr. McCall dropped his glasses. He glowered for a moment at the breakfast table. His eye took in the Health Bread, the imitation coffee-pot, the cereal, the nut-butter. Then with a swift movement he seized the cloth, jerked it forcibly, and brought the entire contents rattling and crashing to the floor.
“Lindsay!”
Mr. McCall met his wife’s eye with quiet determination. It was plain that something had happened in the hinterland of Mr. McCall’s soul.
“Cora,” he said, resolutely, “I have come to a decision. I’ve been letting you run things your own way a little too long in this family. I’m going to assert myself. For one thing, I’ve had all I want of this food-reform foolery. Look at Washy! Yesterday that boy seems to have consumed anything from a couple of hundredweight to a ton of pie, and he has thriven on it! Thriven! I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Cora, but Washington and I have drunk our last cup of anti-caffeine! If you care to go on with the stuff, that’s your look-out. But Washy and I are through.”
He silenced his wife with a masterful gesture and turned to Archie. “And there’s another thing. I never liked the idea of that lawsuit, but I let you talk me into it. Now I’m going to do things my way. Mr. Moffam, I’m glad you looked in this morning. I’ll do just what you want. Take me to Dan Brewster now, and let’s call the thing off, and shake hands on it.”