"Father, I think thee had better choose thy words a bit better in the
presence of a stranger," advised the man in armor.

"Can't thee see that he is a fool?" demanded the old man.

"I don't think I want to venture an opinion, sir. I'll simply say that
your son's choice of a summer suit seems a little peculiar. But, of
course, every man to his liking!"

The old man walked down to the fence. He was crooked at the waist and
his legs were hooked with the curves of age, but he strode along with
brisk vigor. His gaze was as sharp as a gimlet, though the puckered lids
were cocked over his eyes with the effect of little tents whose flaps
were partly closed. He put his face close to Farr's.

"Thee is as cheeky as a crow and as prying as a magpie and I venture
to say thee is a roving scamp. But I may as well talk to thee as to
anybody."

With armor rattling and squeaking, the son started toward them.

"I do not care to have thee talk about me, father," he warned.

Farr noted that the son had eyes as keen and as gray as those of the
elder. The armored citizen was sturdy and of middle age and the face
under the vizor revealed intelligence and self-possession.

The father paid no heed to the son.