“Let that wait for last,” his father said. “I want a conference on it. In the meantime—” He took up the smaller of the two remaining parcels and set to work on it himself.
When they were all finished, Richard Holt began to tear the heavy newspaper wrapping from the final parcel. “Take a look at this, will you?” he asked. “If you don’t think Mom will like it, I’ll get her something else tomorrow. I don’t feel very satisfied with it myself.”
The last sheet of paper fell away to disclose a small iron box, about eight inches long, four inches wide, and four inches deep. The surface was heavily ornamented with scrollwork, and its considerable weight was evident from the way Ken’s father held it.
“I thought,” he said half-apologetically, “that she could line it with velvet or something and us
