“Still a demagogue and a trouble maker,” he admitted.
“You've won the recall and the direct primary since I left.”
“You should see Jefferson Davis Farnum Miller. He's two months old and as fat as a dumpling.”
“I've seen him. He's a credit to his godfather.”
“I wonder who's to blame for that,” she said, the star flash in her eyes.
“They exaggerate. Nobody could have done less than I.”
“Or more.” She did not dwell upon the subject. “Tell me about Mr. Marchant.”
He went over for her the story of the little poet's gentle death. She listened till he made an end.
“No. He had one of his good, eager days, then guietly fell asleep.”
“And passed to where, beyond these voices, there is rest and peace,” she quoted, ever so softly.
“Perhaps he knows now all about his Perfect State.” Her wistful smile was very tender.
They walked together slowly across the valley.
“It is nearly six months since I have seen you.”
“Five months and twenty-seven days.” The words had slipped out almost without her volition. She hurried on, ashamed, the color flying in her cheeks, “I remember because it was the day we ran down your cousin and that old gentleman. It has always been a great comfort to me to know that he was not seriously injured.”
“What was his name? I don't think I heard it.”
There was just an instant's silence before he pronounced, “Farnum--Mr. Robert Farnum.”
Across her brain there flashed a fugitive memory of three words Jeff had spoken to his cousin the day of the accident. “It's your father.”
But how could that be? She had always understood that both the parents of James were dead. The lawyer had denied knowing the man whose life he had saved. And yet she had been sure of the words and of a furtive, frightened look on the face of James. According to the story of the _Herald_ the father of Jefferson, a former convict, was named Robert. But once, when she had made some allusion to it Captain Chunn had exploded into vigorous denial. It was a puzzle the meaning of which she could not guess.
“He has several times mentioned his wish to thank you for your kindness,” Jeff mentioned.
“I'll be glad to meet him.” Swiftly she flashed a question at him. “Is he James Farnum's father?”
“Haven't you read the papers? He is said to be mine.”