"Hello, kids!" Edward Henry greeted them. As he had seen them before mid-day dinner, the more formal ceremonies of salutation after absence—so hateful to the Five Towns temperament—were happily over and done with.
Robert turned his head slightly, inspected his father with a judicial detachment that hardly escaped the inimical, and then resumed his book.
("No one would think," said Edward Henry to himself, "that the person who has just entered this room is the most enterprising and enlightened of West End theatrical managers.")
"'Ello, father!" shrilled Ralph. "Come and help me to stand on this wire-rope."
"It isn't a wire-rope," said Robert from the hearthrug, without stirring, "it's a brass-rail."
"Yes, it is a wire-rope, because I can make it bend," Ralph retorted, bumping down on the thing. "Anyhow, it's going to be a wire-rope."
Maisie simply stuck several fingers into her mouth, shifted to one side, and smiled at her father in a style of heavenly and mischievous flirtatiousness.
"Well, Robert, what are you reading?" Edward Henry inquired, in his best fatherly manner—half authoritative and half humorous—while he formed part of the staff of Ralph's circus.
"I'm not reading—I'm learning my spellings," replied Robert.
Edward Henry, knowing that the discipline of filial politeness must be maintained, said, "'Learning my spellings'—what?"