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He knew best that side of him which Cynthia saw; and if the truth be told as a native of Coniston Mr. Satterlee felt in the bottom of his heart a certain pride in Jethro. The minister's opinions well represented the attitude of his time. He had not given thought to the subject for such matters had came to be taken for granted.
It was like a personal distinction a medal, or the thanks of Congress that Satterlee should thus have singled him out. His gratitude was unbounded. He felt both humble and elated. His cup was brimming over. Let not his credulity be counted against him. After all, he was not the only admirer of the captain.
Some such query was running in their minds as they talked, while Jethro, having finished his milk and crackers, sat silent at the end of the table with his eyes upon her. He rose when Mr. Satterlee came in. Mr. Satterlee looked at her, and then he went quietly across the room and kissed her. But then Mr. Satterlee was the minister.
He went and had another look at the jail, and liked it even less than before. Faugh! it was disgusting! It would kill a white man in a week. It would be nothing less than murder to put Satterlee into it. He returned to the consulate to talk over the matter with the trusty Scanlons.
Satterlee, 2d, smarting under his brother's contempt, felt his nerves steady and when the second delivery came he was able to judge it and let it go by. That made a ball and a strike. Then came another ball. They had told him to wait for a good one, and he was going to do it. And presently the good one came.
Cynthia thought his hair a little thinner and the lines in his face a little deeper. And Mr. Satterlee thought perhaps he was the only one of the visitors who guessed why she had come back. He laid his thin hand on her head, as though in benediction, and sat down beside her. "And how is the learning, Cynthia?" he asked. Now, indeed, they were going to hear something at last.
Satterlee," said Cynthia, "would you mind if we went first to see Cousin Ephraim?" "Why, of course, we must see Ephraim," said Mr. Satterlee, briskly.
The latter players raced for home as fast as their legs would take them. Meanwhile in from center sped Satterlee, 2d. He could run hard when he tried and that's what he did now. He was almost too late but not quite. His hands found the ball a bare six inches above the turf. Coming fast as he was he had crossed second base before he could pull himself up.
He looked a bit yellow and granulated and wavering, there in the cruel morning light of the big plate glass windows. Or perhaps it was the contrast he presented with these slim, slick young salesmen. "Well, h'are you to-day, Mr. uh Satterlee? What's the good word?" Mr. Satterlee would not glance up this time. "I'm pretty well. Can't complain." "Good. Good." "Anything I can do for you?" "No-o-o.
Cynthia thought his hair a little thinner and the lines in his face a little deeper. And Mr. Satterlee thought perhaps he was the only one of the visitors who guessed why she had come back. He laid his thin hand on her head, as though in benediction, and sat down beside her. "And how is the learning, Cynthia?" he asked. Now, indeed, they were going to hear something at last.
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