“Be seated, sir,” said the man, in the calm voice of one who is accustomed to obedience, even in trifles.
Mr. E. H. Merriwether sat down. He noticed little things, as well as big. He noted, for instance, that he had begun by doing exactly what this man told him to do. The man intelligently waited for Mr. E. H. Merriwether to speak. Mr. E. H. Merriwether did so. He said:
“I called to see Madam Calderon.”
“About?” The man spoke coldly.
Mr. E. H. Merriwether raised his eyebrows. He did it in order not to frown. There is no wisdom in needless antagonisms. His only son was concerned.
“About my son,” he said.
“Tommy?”
The great railroad magnate, accustomed to the deference even of the self-appointed owners of the United States, flushed with anger. Had things gone so far that such intimacy existed?
“I understand,” he said, trying to speak emotionlessly, “that my son visits this house.”
“Of his own volition, sir.”