Hutchinson, half hidden behind his newspaper, jerked his head and grunted:
“Glad to see you, sir.”
Mr. Palford bowed, and took the chair Tembarom presented.
“I am much obliged to you, Mr. Hutchinson, for allowing me to come to your room. I have business to discuss with Mr. Tembarom, and the pianola was being played down-stairs—rather loudly.”
“They do it every night, dang 'em! Right under my bed,” growled Hutchinson. “You're an Englishman, aren't you?”
“Yes.”
“So am I, thank God!” Hutchinson devoutly gave forth.
Little Ann rose from her chair, sewing in hand.
“Father'll come and sit with me in my room,” she said.
Hutchinson looked grumpy. He did not intend to leave the field clear and the stew to its fate if he could help it. He gave Ann a protesting frown.