Stories by American Authors Volume 5

He offered his two hands as Theodore introduced me; I gave him my own and he stood smiling at me like some quaint old image in ivory and ebony scanning my face with a curiosity which he took no pains to conceal. “God bless me” he said at last “how much you look like your father!” I sat down and for half an hour we talked of many things—of my journey of my impressions of America of my reminiscences of Europe and by implication of my prospects. His voice is weak and cracked but he makes it express everything. Mr. Sloane is not yet in his dotage—oh no! He nevertheless makes himself out a poor creature. In reply to an inquiry of mine about his health he favored me with a long list of his infirmities (some of which are very trying certainly) and assured me that he was quite finished.