"What do you want?" he greeted Petro testily.
He was invariably testy when indigestion had him in its claw, and his tone gave warning that this was a bad moment Still Petro was bursting with his subject. He
could not bear to postpone the fight. Instead of putting it off, he resolved to be exceedingly careful in his tactics.
"I want to talk with you, Father, if you don't mind," he began pleasantly. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important?"
"I am supposed to be left to myself in the mornings," said Peter senior, martyrized. "Though I don't go to the store, I must read Croft's reports and keep in touch with things."
"It's about the store I'd like to talk." Peter was thankful for this opening. He perched hesitatingly on the arm of an adipose easy chair, not having been specifically invited to sit.
"Why, what have you got to say about the Hands?" Defiance underlay tone and look.
"It was in this very room I promised you I'd keep my hands off the Hands," Peter quoted. "But I want you to let me take the promise back."
"I'll do nothing of the sort!" shrilled Peter senior. "What do you mean?"
"I need to work. I've tried other things, but my thoughts always come back to the Hands. I'm proud of your success you know. I want to—to batten on it. And I want to carry it on. I have ideas of my own."