“Not only that, but he said he was astonished at the judgment you showed on the occasion. And only this morning he was thanking his stars you were so good at bossing up things, now that he was seedy, and rheumatic, and Brian had to be away a lot.”
Here was some practical cause for self-satisfaction, I thought. In view of my utter ruin financially, it was gratifying to know that I was deemed worth my salt in any one line of livelihood. But I answered—
“Well, if you’ve put your hand to the plough it’s satisfactory to know that you’re driving a straight furrow.”
“Rather. Brian, too, is always booming you, and as for those two kids, why they don’t cheek you a bit.”
“Is that a sign of esteem?” I laughed, for the idea tickled me. Further, I admit a littleness—in the shape of an anxiety to hear whether Beryl had added her quota to the general testimonial, and if so on what terms. But, by accident or design, he forebore to gratify me.
“I should say so,” he rejoined. “Knowing their natural temperaments, it means that they must hold you in profound respect—especially George.”
“Poor little devil! He’s had the cheek considerably taken out of him of late,” I said. “He used to be rather an outrage.”
“So I should imagine. By the way, Holt, they were telling me about how you got Iris out of the sea that time at East London. It was—”
But whatever “it was” I didn’t want to hear.
“Stop there, Pentridge,” I said. “That’s a forbidden topic and one I’m completely sick of. It was mere child’s play to a fellow who is as thoroughly at home in the water as I am, so don’t talk about it.”