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He walked back to the hotel, too overcome by the beauty of the thing he had seen to attempt talking of it. Evidently Steve Whitney knew how the boy felt, for he did not break the silence. But once inside the house Bob realized that it had been a long time since luncheon. “Pull in to shore, Bob,” he said quickly. “We’d better take a look at what’s coming before we tackle it.” “I should like to know!” exclaimed Asta. “As heavy as he was to row!”.
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Conrad
“It seems to me you do nothing but eat,” came through the window. The boy looked at his uncle in astonishment. The man with the most love in his heart the best man? He the greatest of all? Finally it got too much for Bob and one day, taking his courage in both hands, he blurted forth, “Say, Whisk—Mr. Whitney, what’s gone wrong? Is it anything money won’t cure?” He held his breath awaiting the answer. It was a cheeky, nervy thing to do and if his boss did not take it the right way, he would be perfectly justified in sending him back to the horrible punishment of the draughting room. But he need not have worried. Mr. Whitney was too much of a big boy himself and had too much understanding not to realize that the question had been asked because anything that troubled him meant so much to the boy. “We’re in for it again,” yelled Jerry to Bob, who was rowing. “Back water—hard!”.
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