"I want you to take a taxi and go up to my house. Ask for my wife, and give her this." He made the nature of the errand clearer. "It's the anniversary of our wedding. She thinks I've forgotten it. I've only been waiting to send this—by you."
The significance of the mission came to Tom while he was on the way. The thing in the packet, probably a jewel, was the token of a marriage of which he was the eldest born. It was to mark his position in the husband's mind that he was made the bearer of the gift. He had no opinion as to this, except that in the appeal to the wife there was an element of futility.
In the big dim hall he met the second born. To answer the door Dadd had left the task of helping the one-armed fellow into his spring overcoat. As Tom came in the poor left arm was struggling with the garment viciously. Tad broke into a greeting vigorous, but non-committal.
"Hello, by Gad!"
Tom went straight to his business. "Your father has sent me with a message to Mrs. Whitelaw. I understand she's at home."
"So you've got here! I knew you'd work it some day."
"You were very perspicacious."
"I was. And there's another thing I'll tell you. You've got round the old man. Well, I'm not going to stand for it. See?"
"I see; but it's got nothing to do with me. Your father's given me a job. If you don't want him to do it you ought to tackle him."
Whatever war had done for Tad it had not ennobled him. The face was old and seamed and stained with a dark red flush. It was scowling too, with the helpless scowl of impotence. Tom was sorrier for him than he had ever been before.