“No,” he went on, in response to the unasked query, “I am not drunk. It is something else that has upset me. Can—can you give me a few minutes of your time, Joe?”
Mr. Joseph Brinton glanced longingly at a pile of unfinished work on his desk; then, seating himself and motioning his father to a chair, sighed imperceptibly in regret as he said:
“Certainly, sir. Sit down. My time is always at your disposal.”
CHAPTER V
PAST-WORTHY
DAD seated himself on the edge of the chair and let his broad-brimmed gray hat drop to the floor at his side.
The unwonted fit of purpose that had brought him so aggressively into the sacred private office, however, had now begun slowly but noticeably to ebb. And, as ever, he felt curiously sheepish and ill at ease in the presence of this flawless son of his.
To gain new hold on his resolve, and incidentally to gain time, he switched from the theme that had brought him thither on sudden impulse.
“Is it true,” he asked, “is it true—what Jimmie was telling me—that you have enlisted?”
“Yes, sir. In the Second Company. I ought to be drilling with the rest this very minute. We start in three days. But I had a pressure of work here this morning, and Captain Scofield excused me.”
Again he glanced with polite furtiveness at his desk.