"Now let's hear all about America. You realise you have written me precious few details. I've no idea what you've been up to."
"I didn't want to say much until I had it all definitely fixed up. It was no good crowing too soon. I can set your mind at rest now, though, everything's O. K."
The old eyes riveted themselves on his face intently.
"You mean you've landed some good orders?"
"Some! A lot, all over the place. I tell you, we've done the trick at last; you can accept it for an absolute fact that our American market is established."
The gaunt face on the pillow glowed with triumph. Sir Charles would have hated to admit in words just how great was the satisfaction given him by this news, but his expression betrayed the truth. In his secret heart he had sometimes felt that the principal thing he lived for now was the firm establishment of a market in the United States for the output of Seabrook & Clifford. Until now the buyers across the Atlantic had shown little interest in their well-known materials, although salesman after salesman had been sent out, and money sunk in advertising to an extent that made him shudder to contemplate. Bitterly he had begun to fear that the wish of his heart would never be realised in his lifetime, yet now, behold! It had come about, and through the agency and judgment of his son. He felt a burning desire to know all details.
"What about those new patterns you took out with you?" he inquired, with an effort to appear casual.
Roger stared at him in astonishment, then laughed.
"Why, of course, it was the new patterns that did it! The old stuff was out of date, no one would look at it. Didn't I always say so? If there's any place in the world that wants modern ideas, it is America. And let me tell you something else: before you know where you are, the colonies are going to wake up and want them too!"
His father gulped. It may have been that he was swallowing his pride.
Still, he managed to nod, as if this were what he'd been expecting.