The boy's low, passionlessly
vehement statement somehow made him feel that it wasn't a boy to whom
he was talking, but a little and grave old man. And suddenly the
desire seized him to hear more of that low, direct voice; the impulse
came to him and Caleb, whose whole life had been as free from erratic
snap-judgments as his broad face was of craft, found joy in acting upon
it forthwith, before it had time to cool.
"The view is excellent from my veranda," he waved a hand behind him.
"And--you look a little warm and tired. If your business is not of too
pressing a nature--have you----" he broke off, amazed at his helpless
formality in the matter--"have you come far?"
And he wondered immediately how the boy would receive that suggestion
that he hesitate, there with the "city" in front of him, a fairy-tale
to be explored. And again he was allowed to catch a glimpse of age-old
spirit--a glimpse of a man-sized self-discipline--beneath the childish
exterior.
The boy hesitated a moment, but it was his uncertainty as to just what
Caleb's invitation had offered, and not the lure of the town which made
him pause. He took one step forward.
"I been comin' since last Friday," he explained. "I been comin' daown
river for three days naow--and I been comin' fast!"
Again that measuring, level glance.
"An' I ain't got no business--yit," he went on.
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