“There he is now, I believe,” he said.
“Oh, is he?” said Jennie, looking out.
Gerhardt, who was given to speculation these days, passed by the window without looking up. He put his wooden buck down, and, hanging his saw on a nail on the side of the house, came in.
“Mother,” he called, in German, and, then not seeing her, he came to the door of the front room and looked in.
Brander arose and extended his hand. The knotted and weather-beaten German came forward, and took it with a very questioning expression of countenance.
“This is my father, Mr. Brander,” said Jennie, all her diffidence dissolved by sympathy. “This is the gentleman from the hotel, papa, Mr. Brander.”
“What’s the name?” said the German, turning his head.
“Brander,” said the Senator.
“Oh yes,” he said, with a considerable German accent.
“Since I had the fever I don’t hear good. My wife, she spoke to me of you.”