'Twas
a trivial thing, lad. What's a little matter av figures between min av
the river, eh? We'll leave that to the capitalists who laugh at our
dinseness, me bhoy!"
With that shot at his employer McLean strode off, fuming.
Steve hung back beside Caleb on the return trip up the hill. Not once
did he speak, and Caleb, aware of his thinned lips and the bleak
whiteness of his face, did not know what to say himself. He only knew
that he, too, felt unreasonably bitter against Allison for his burst of
mirth. Not until they had left Barbara and her father at their own
gate and were crossing the Hunter lawn did Caleb attempt any remark
whatsoever.
"I--you musn't feel badly just because you didn't know that
three-quarters and six-eighths were the same, Steve," awkwardly he
tried to comfort him. "I guess there was a time when Allison, in spite
of all his tutors, didn't know it himself, if the truth's old."
Then Caleb learned that Steve had not even heard Allison's burst of
laughter. He whirled--the boy--and his eyes blazed, hurt, shamed,
bitter, into Caleb's kindly ones. He shook with the very vehemence of
the words that came through twitching lips.
"_She_ didn't hev no call to smile like that at me," he flung out. "If
I'd ever hed a chance to learn that they wa'n't no difference between
them figgers, and _hedn't_ knowed, she could'a smiled.
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