"Yes, that's who I am," continued King. "How do you do, Jake?" (to the tall young man in the doorway). "We might as well shake hands for the sake of old times. You girls have grown into women since I left. I've stayed away a long time and seen a lot of the world, but I've always wanted to get back. Where is mother?"
Neither of the girls could summon up the courage to answer, and, as they gave him their stiff hands, they seemed under stress of great embarrassment.
"She's poorly," said the old man, inhospitably keeping his seat. "She's had a hurtin' in 'er side from usin' that thar battlin' stick too much on dirty clothes, hoein' corn an' one thing an' another, an' a cold settled on her chest. Mary, go tell yore ma her son's turned up at last. Huh, all of us, except her, thought you was dead an' under ground! She's always contended you was alive an' had a job somers that was payin' enough to feed an' clothe you. How's times been a-servin' you?"
"Pretty well." King removed his valise from the bench and took its place wearily.
"Is that so? Things is worse than ever here. Whar have you been hangin' out?"
"Seattle was the last place," King answered. "I've worked in several towns since I left here."
"Huh, about as I expected! An' I reckon you hain't got much to show fer it except what you got on yore back an' in that carpet-bag."
"That's about all."
"What you been followin'?"
"Doing newspaper work," replied the young man, coloring.