"I've got a new family," Mr. Wright declared, "Simmons, unhook that
second cage, and show him the nest. Look at that. Three of 'em.
Hideous, ain't they? Simmons, you didn't chop that egg fine enough. Do
you want to kill 'em all? A nigger has no more feeling for birds than
a cat."
"I done chop it, as--"
"Hold your tongue!" said Mr. Wright, amiably "Here; take that." He
fumbled in his vest pocket, and the peacock feathers dipped
dangerously as Simmons caught the expected cigar. "Come, come, young
man, haven't you had enough to eat? Give him another glass of wine,
Simmons, you freckled nigger! Come out on the porch, and tell me your
wanderings, Ulysses."
The boy was faintly impressed by his grandfather's attentions; he felt
that he was welcome, which gave him a vague sort of pleasure. On the
porch, in the hot dusk, Benjamin Wright talked; once or twice, apropos
of nothing, he quoted some noble stanza, apparently for the joy of the
rolling numbers. The fact was, he was full of happiness at his
grandson's return, but he had had so little experience in happiness
that he did not know how to express it. He asked a good many
questions, and received apathetic answers.
"Have you got any notes of the drama?"
"No, sir."
"Doggone your picter!-"'Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song,
And let the young lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound!"
So you made up your mind to come home?"
"I had to come back, "Sam said.
There was a pause. Benjamin Wright was reminding himself that in
handling a boy, one must be careful not to Say the wrong thing; one
must express one's self with reserve and delicacy; one must weigh
one's words--boys were such jackasses.
"Well;" he said, "got over your fool falling in love with a female old
enough to be your mother?"
Sam looked at him.
"I hope your trip has put sense into you on that subject, anyhow?"
"I love Mrs. Richie as much as I ever did, if that's what you mean,
sir," Sam said listlessly.
Upon which his grandfather flew into instant rage. "As much in love as
ever! Gad-a-mercy! Well; I give you up, sir, I give you up. I spend my
money to get you out of this place, away from this female, old enough
to be your grandmother, and you come back and say you are as much in
love with her as ever. I swear, I don't believe you have a drop of my
blood in you!" He flung his cigar away, and plunged his hand down into
the ginger-jar on the bench beside him; "A little boy like you, just
in breeches! Why, your mother ought to put you over her knee, and--"
he stopped. "You have no sense, Sam," he added with startling
mildness.