A listener of discrimination might have detected in the dialogue a note of assumed optimism and suspected that the four old men seated like images on the piazza rail were trying to buoy up one another's courage, and in the assumption he would not, perhaps, have been far wrong.
"What do you s'pose this Galbraith has up his sleeve, Zenas Henry, that he should be comin' over here?" Captain Benjamin Todd speculated, during a lapse in the conversation. "He has some scheme in mind, you can be sure of that."
"Why do you always go rootin' up evil like as if you was diggin' fur clams, Benjamin?" inquired Captain Phineas impatiently, "All Mr. Galbraith said was he wanted to see Zenas Henry. There surely is no harm in that. Delight bein' his niece, it's only to be expected he'd want to get sight of the folks she is livin' with. Most natural thing in the world, it seems to me. 'Twould be queerer if he didn't show no interest in the people who have brought her up."
"That's so, Phineas," Captain Jonas echoed. "Nothin's likelier than that he's comin' to sorter thank Zenas Henry."
"Thank us!" Zenas Henry burst out. "Thank us for bringin' up our own child! What business is it of his? Do we go traipsin' to Belleport to thank him for bein' good to his children?"
"No, no, Zenas Henry," Captain Phineas replied soothingly. "Of course he ain't comin' here to thank us. That would be plumb ridiculous. More probable he's comin' as I said, to make a friendly call since he's a relative."
But in spite of this reassurance, the ripple of misgiving had not entirely died away before the well-known touring-car with the New York financier in its tonneau made its appearance at the foot of the hill.
"He's comin', Zenas Henry!"
"There he is!"
"That's him!" was the excited comment.