“H’lo, Sam!” was his greeting. “Good day, ain’t it?”
“Good for nothing!” snapped the boy. “Rotten weather!”
The man’s eyes twinkled. They were pleasant eyes, with little fans of fine wrinkles at the corners, and they lighted up his smooth-shaven, weather-beaten face amazingly.
“Huh! Guess you ain’t looked at the calendar lately. This ain’t June; it’s the fust day of December. And I’m tellin’ you this is pretty good weather for December. What if there ain’t no snow? The wheelin’s all right—your daddy took the car out this mornin’.”
Sam nodded. “I know—he went over to Epworth.”
“Why didn’t you go along?”
“What’d be the use?”
Now, this was not strictly ingenuous. Possibly because of his sulks, Sam had not been invited to accompany his father.
“Sure enough! What’d ’a’ been the use?” said the man with an odd grin.
Sam reddened. “Look here! Bet you I could have gone if I’d wanted to, Lon!”