Ain't he, Madam?'" "He is, indeed," replied the widow, fervently; "more—much more than that. That was odd: when young people were joyous, they had to express it physically. Capes scored back with an uncompromising vigor that was his way of complimenting her intelligence. But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home.
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