It is probable that at this juncture Max's hopes had been dashed to earth had it not been for his uncle, who now put in a word.
"Tell you what, Crouch," said he, in the quiet voice which, for some reason or other, all big men possess; "the boy might be useful, after all. He's a good shot. He's made of the right stuff--I've known him since he was a baby. He's going out there anyhow, so he may as well come with us."
"Why, of course he may," said Crouch. "I'm sure we'll be delighted to have him."
Such a sudden change of front was one of the most remarkable characteristics of this extraordinary man. Often, in the breath of a single sentence, he would appear to change his mind. But this was not the case. He had a habit of thinking aloud, and of expressing his thoughts in the most vehement manner imaginable. Indeed, if his character can be summed up in any one word, it would be this one word "vehemence." He talked loudly, he gesticulated violently, he smashed the furniture, and invariably knocked his pipe out in such a frantic manner that he broke the stem. And yet Edward Harden---who knew him better than any one else in the world--always protested that he had never known Crouch to lose his temper. This was just the ordinary manner in which he lived, breathed and had his being.
"I'm sure," said Captain Crouch, "we will be delighted to take you with us. Ted, what are you going to do this afternoon?"
"I am going to get some exercise--a turn in the Park."
"I'll come with you," said Crouch.
So saying, he stumped off to fetch his cap which he had left in the inner room. No sooner was he gone than Max turned to his uncle.
"Uncle Ted," said he, "I can't thank you sufficiently."
The big man laid a hand upon the young one's shoulder.