“Only just from the corner, daddy! Madge brought us to the corner, and then she pointed where your office was, and there weren’t any streets to cross or anything.” Something in Martha’s voice made him glance down at her. He found her looking up at him with a queer, anxious little frown knitting her brows. “She brought us right to the very corner, daddy!”
“That’s all right, chick!” he said, squeezing her hand. “I mustn’t even hint anything against—Katherine,” he thought. “Poor little kid—she’s worried. This way!” he said aloud. “In here!”
He opened the door of his new suite of offices. A fine suite it was, and he was proud of it.
“Rather different from the old place, eh?” he said.
“Oh, yes!” said Martha.
She had taken Renie’s hand again, and they stood stiff and straight, terribly conscious of so many strange eyes regarding them. They were beautiful children, dark as gypsies, with a lovely color in their sunburned cheeks. Both of them were straight and sturdy, like himself. They were unmistakably his children.
“Dead image of you, Blakie!” said Cris[Pg 537]son, his partner. “Fine kids! Let’s see—how old are they?”
“Martha’s ten and Irene is eight.”
“Lord! How time flies!” said Crisson.
The past six months had not flown for Blakie.