"Well, why not?" replied the Colonel, but he looked anything but at ease. "Mayn't a father visit his daughter?"
"Of course, father, and I'm very pleased to see you. But it's so unexpected. I hope nothing's wrong. Please go on smoking."
"Thank you," said the Colonel, who had been careful not to throw his cigar away, although he had been holding it in such a manner as to suggest that he had done with it, but absent-mindedly had forgotten to drop it. He put it back to his lips with a sigh of relief, sat down and, with a searching eye, looked round at the files of letters and the folios and other signs of business.
"How are you doing?" he asked.
"Not so well," said Ben, "and not so badly. We are making both ends meet so far. But it's very hard work. There's so much to do, seeing people all day, that I never have an evening free. It's then that the real task begins—writing letters, making up the books and all the rest of it. Still I like it more than not, and it's interesting too. One never knows what the next minute may bring. Always something unexpected. You, for example."
"I'm sorry," said her father, bluntly. "I was hoping you might be tired of it and be willing to come back."
"Please don't think of that," said Ben. "I shouldn't do that, whatever happened. There are lots of other things to do if this fails or gets too difficult. But it won't."
"All right," said the Colonel. "Then perhaps you'll look on me not as a father but as a client. Do you say client or customer?"
"Whichever you like," said Ben.