"Don't you worry a bit, little mother," he said softly.
"I think we can beat them at their own game. They've stacked the
deck, but we'll beat it, anyhow." His hand slid down to her arm,
and gave it a little, reassuring squeeze.
"Oh, Grant, Grant!" She laid her forehead against him for a
moment, then looked up at him with a certain whimsical
solicitude. "Never mind our trouble now. What's this about you
and Vadnie? The boys seem to think you two are going to make a
match of it. And HAVE you been quarreling, you two? I only
want," she added, deprecatingly, "to see my biggest boy happy,
and if I can do anything in any way to help--"
"You can't, except just don't worry when we get to scrapping."
His eyes smiled down at her with their old, quizzical humor,
which she had not seen in them for some days. "I foresee that
we're due to scrap a good deal of the time," he predicted.
"We're both pretty peppery. But we'll make out, all right. You
didn't"--he blushed consciously--"you didn't think I was going
to--to fall dead in love--"
"Didn't I?" Phoebe laughed at him openly.
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