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—It’s great for us to have you back.

—[After a pause—meaningly.] I’ve been looking over the old place with Ruth. Things don’t seem to be

—[His face flushing—interrupts his brother shortly.] Never mind the damn farm! There’s nothing about it we don’t both know by heart. Let’s talk about something interesting. This is the first chance I’ve had to have a word with you alone. To the devil with the farm for the present. They think of nothing else at home. Tell me about your trip. That’s what I’ve been anxious to hear about.

—[With a quick glance of concern at .] I suppose you do get an overdose of the farm at home. [Indignantly.] Say, I never realized that Ruth’s mother was such an old rip ’till she talked to me this morning. [With a grin.] Phew! I pity you, Rob, when she gets on her ear!

—She is—difficult sometimes; but one must make allowances. [Again changing the subject abruptly.] But this isn’t telling me about the trip.

—Why, I thought I told you everything in my letters.

—[Smiling.] Your letters were—sketchy, to say the least.

—Oh, I know I’m no author. You needn’t be afraid of hurting my feelings. I’d rather go through a typhoon again than write a letter.

—[With eager interest.] Then you were through a typhoon?