“Well, I guess I’ve got to be going.”
“Why, we’re just getting acquainted!” cried Kate.
Mrs. Tiffany merely flickered an eyelash at the assumption of privilege which this implied. But she answered, after a moment, “We should like to have you stay. Even at that, don’t consider us when it is a case of being near your son.”
“Well,” answered the older Chester, ponderously, “you see it ain’t like I had only this one son and hadn’t been through trouble. There’s Bob now. I worried quite a lot more than was necessary when the Artiguez outfit shot him up, but he pulled through. And 274 after Pete got scrambled by a riata, and a few more things of that kind happened, I stopped worrying any more than was necessary. He’ll get well, and you’re handling him fine. You’ve been blame good to the boy,” he said; and the touch of sentimental softness in his voice showed how genuine was his hardly expressed gratitude. He began talking rapidly, as though ashamed of it. He hoped they all could come to see him on the ranch some time, though there wasn’t much there to attract a lady. Still, the boys had pretty good times now and then. If the Tiffanys liked fresh venison, the boys always got some deer in the season.
“It’s lovely down there, I know. Bertram—your son—has told me so much about it!” broke in Kate.
“We’d like to see you, too,” said Mr. Chester. Then, catching the implication, embarrassed by it, he retreated to his room and came back in an incredibly short time with his valise. He had turned toward the door when Mrs. Tiffany said:
“I think Bertram is well enough so that you might see him again.”
“Oh, sure,” replied Mr. Chester, as recalling 275 a neglected trifle. He dropped his valise and strode back to the sick-room for a short stay.
All that day, Eleanor harbored a dread, which turned toward night to a relief—dread of the first interview, relief that Bertram had not sent for her. Kate, waiting her chance, slipped secretly into the room after Mr. Chester had gone. Bertram was awake. He smiled in a measured imitation of his old smile when she entered, and extended his uninjured hand. She did not take it; instead, she patted it with her cool, long fingers, made to soothe. And considering that the nurse was watching, she looked a long time into his eyes.
“They sure smashed me up some,” he said. “But I’m a-knitting. How did it happen that they swore you in?”