Obedient as a child, he lumbered off at that curious bear-like trot of his, his sandals tapping the pavement.
Ten minutes later, when he entered the back sitting-room, he was perspiring but as prepared as such a flabby soul could ever be.
He had always been in terror of his father; and Hans Caspar saw nothing strange in his son's greeting.
"Hullo, Edward," he said in his deep voice. "Just run down to see you."
"Hullo, father," replied the son with the forced cheeriness he always adopted when addressing his sire. "You'll stop for luncheon?"
"Thank-you. If you can give me a bite."
The young man rang.
His wife came to the door.
"Mr. Caspar'll stay for luncheon," said Edward, lowering his voice appropriately. "Can you let us have something?"
"Very good," replied his wife surlily.