“But I could explain——”
“Of course you could,” his employer agreed gratefully, “and I’ll wager you’re one of our best explainers, but even at that, I probably wouldn’t get you. You can’t think what a fool I am about machinery ... and my friend, Gloriana-Virginia can tell me all I need to know for the present ... all that I can assimilate on a day like this....” He screened a yawn and fanned himself with his exquisite panama. “And here comes my messenger!”
M’liss’ Tolliver was crossing the room at her slouching gait and gave him a brief, incurious glance of recognition. She was followed by a very little boy, and a tall, stooped old man came after him, a large dinner bucket on his arm, and both hands engaged with the wheezing harmonica at his mouth which was producing, with gaps here and there which needed to be filled in with memory or imagination, a time-honored tune:
“There is a hap ... py land ...
Far ... far ... a-way....”
It was not a very positive assertion, rather a tentative statement which was open to question.
“Yo’ quit that, Pap!” his daughter snapped at him, snatching the bucket from his arm. “I ’low I’ll ‘happy land’ yo’, ef yo’ don’t leggo that dawg-gawn tune! Hyar, yo’ Glory, and Beany, pitch in and eat!” She sat down on the floor with her back against the wall and the two children squatted obediently beside her.
“This is the quickest way out, sir,” said Luke Manders, pointing to the door which led into the lane.
“Now, look here, old son,” Peter Parker grinned at him engagingly, “you know I’ll have a lot better time by myself! I can see all I want to see without troubling you for a minute, and I promise you faithfully not to get caught in the machinery! All I want to do is watch the wheels go round for a little while, and then I’ll call on Mr. Carey, and then I’ll be off again for the great open spaces!”
“Oh—then you’re not—not going to make a long stay, Mr. Parker?”