"We get on pretty well; I suppose you are willing to stay with me?"
George said to him.
Grierson hesitated and looked disturbed.
"The fact is, I'd be very sorry to leave; but I'm afraid I'll have to by and by. You see, I've got to find a place I can take my wife to."
"Can she cook?"
"Yes," said Grierson, indicating the remnants on the table with contempt. "She would do better than this with her eyes shut! Then," he continued eagerly, "she can wash and mend clothes. I've noticed that you and Mr. West throw half your things away long before you need to."
"That's true," Edgar admitted. "It's the custom of the country; time's too valuable to spend in mending anything, though I've noticed that one or two of the people who tell you about the value of time get through a good deal of it lounging round the Sachem. Anyway, amateur laundering's an abomination, and I'm most successful in washing the buttons and wrist-bands off." He turned to his companion. "George, you'll have to send for Mrs. Grierson."
The matter was promptly arranged, and when Grierson went out with a look of keen satisfaction, Edgar laughed.
"I feel like pointing out how far an idea can go. Helen only thought of making me a little more comfortable, and you see the result of it—Grierson and his wife united, things put into shape here, four people content! Of course, one could cite a more striking example; I mean when Sylvia Marston thought you had better go out and look after her farm. There's no need to mention the far-reaching consequences that opinion had."
"I volunteered to go out," George corrected him.
"Well," said Edgar, "I quite believe you did so. But you're no doubt pining to get at the fence."