It was as though his thoughts were traveling far afield, while his ears
subconsciously conveyed the other's talk to a brain ready to formulate
adequate reply.
Apparently, however, this abstraction impressed itself upon the other
at last, for presently Nan heard her father challenge him in his direct
fashion.
"Feelin' beat, eh?"
Nan pictured the steady gaze of her father's deep-set inquiring eyes as
he put the question.
"No."
The reply came without hesitation. It was simple, definite. Again the
picture presented itself to Nan. Jeff, she felt, was gazing out into
the twilight, absorbed in the thoughts which held him. She knew the
attitude. She had seen it so often before.
It was Bud's voice which broke the silence that followed.
"Guess the work's pretty tough," he said. "You don't need to fergit
you bin a mighty sick man. If you do, why, you'll be li'ble to find
yourself on Nan's hands again."
"I couldn't wish for better."
The reply had come on the instant. It must have warned even Bud that
he had found a key to the man's abstraction.
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