This was said by the builder under the porch, and they heard it in the office.
Gemming began to shake the point of the pencil he had dipped in the ink. Füger blinked and blinked. Both felt that Martin George Münster had fallen from his greatness to their own level. He too was in Ulwing’s service.
When the builder returned, his crooked chin settled snugly in his open collar.
Suddenly he perceived the children.
“What are you doing here?” He would have liked to sit down with them on the heap of office books. Just for a minute, just long enough to let their hands stroke his face. He took his repeater out of his pocket.
“It can’t be done.” He still had to settle with many people. Contractors, timber merchants, masons, carters—they were all waiting behind the grating, in the big room opening into the garden. And John Hubert had already twice thrust his head through the door as if he wanted to call him. He went on. But on the threshold he had to turn back. “This afternoon we will go to Uncle Sebastian. We will take leave of him before the floating bridge is removed.”
The children grinned with delight.
“We shall go in a coach, shan’t we?” asked the boy.
“We shall walk,” answered Ulwing drily; “the horses are needed to cart wood!” And with that he slammed the door behind him.
“Walk,” repeated Christopher, disappointed. “I don’t like it. And I won’t go. And I have a pain in my foot.”