While he was talking he realized that Edward Pilkings was in mourning.
Young Pilkings looked shallowly grieved and muttered, “The old gentleman passed beyond, a week ago Thursday.”
“Oh, Mr. Edward, I can’t tell you— It’s a blow to me, a very great blow. I was with your father for so many, many years.”
“Yes—uh— Yes.”
“Is there— I wonder if I couldn’t send a letter or some flowers or something to your mother?”
“Why, yes, I guess there’s nothing to prevent.... Boy, you be careful of those boxes! What the deuce do you think you’re trying to do? There, that’s a little better. Try to show some sense about your work, even if you ain’t got any.” Edward Pilkings’s voice crackled like wood in a fireplace.
Desperately Father tried again. “Fact is, Mr. Edward, I’ve given up my tea-room on Cape Cod. Didn’t go so very well. I guess my forty, like the fellow says, is sticking to selling shoes. Mrs. Appleby and I have just got back to town and got settled down and— Fact is, I’d be glad to go back to work.”
His hesitant manner invited refusal. It was evident that Mr. Edward Pilkings was not interested.
Shyly Father added, “You know your father promised to keep a place open for me.”
“Well, now, I’ll tell you, Appleby; it ain’t that you aren’t a good salesman, but just now I’m—well, kind of reorganizing the business. I sort of feel the establishment ought to have a little more pep in it, and so— You see— But you leave your address and as soon as anything turns up I’ll be mighty glad to let you know.”