"H'm," said Mr. Claybourne, evidently wondering what it was all about.
"How's your foot, Ted?" Helen called out.
"There's nothing the matter with Ted's foot, is there?" said Mr. Claybourne.
"There's your answer, Lady Grey Eyes," I laughed.
"What are we talking about?" Mr. Claybourne inquired.
"It's just a private joke between Ted and me, dad. You wouldn't understand," Helen explained.
"Then I don't think it's very polite of you to refer to it before others," her father grumbled. "I'm surprised at you, Ted."
"My opinion exactly," Miss Conover hastened to agree.
The tension was broken by the arrival of the maid with three kinds of pie--mince, pumpkin, and cranberry. Upon the later arrival of coffee, Miss Conover got up from the table.
"Time's up," she announced. "We'll carry Mr. Edward upstairs."
"A bargain's a bargain, and I'll go quietly," I said, "but damn it all just the same."
"Edward, will you oblige me by not swearing before Helen," Mr. Claybourne declaimed.
"I beg your pardon--and Helen's, if she wants it. Happiness has a bad effect on my manners."
In the morning Knowlton dropped in to see me on the way to the office. Dr. Sinclair had called first and expressed approval of my progress. He also gave permission to talk business for half an hour, which was why I had Knowlton summoned by telephone.
"Well, Ted, our friend nearly did for you," he said with his diabolic grin, as he drew a chair alongside my bed. "I certainly was scared until the doc said he thought he could pull you through." I knew that for Knowlton to admit this much was for him to confess he had passed through an emotional crisis. Of course the way he put it was part of the "hard-headed" pose of all our race, whether English or American. It is the half-unconscious way in which we hide our sentimentality when the latter collides with reality.
"Thanks, Knowlton," I replied; "it would be awkward for the business if I got out ahead of time." I could not resist teasing him this much.
"Wasn't just what I meant, Ted," he said, squirming uncomfortably. "Well, I guess it doesn't matter. The point now is that the Owens people sent us a crackerjack, A-number-one man, and he analyzed the Texas formula in a jiffy, so to speak. Prospero lost us only four days, and the Owens man has speeded us up so we have made that good. He costs like hell, though, and as soon as you can get out again, Ted, I'll let him go."