Morris whirled quickly and held out his hand, all his graciousness in his manner.
“Yes, certainly. You took the ring to Minott, of course. Very glad to meet you again—and what did you say his name was, Peter?” This in the same tone of voice—quite as if Jack were miles away.
“Breen—John Breen,” answered Peter, putting his arm on Jack's shoulder, to accentuate more clearly his friendship for the boy.
“All the better, Mr. John Breen—doubly glad to see you, now that I know your name. I'll try not to forget it next time. Breen! Breen! Peter, where have I heard that name before? Breen—where the devil have I—Oh, yes—I've got it now. Quite a common name, isn't it?”
Jack assured him with a laugh that it was; there were more than a hundred in the city directory. He wasn't offended at Morris forgetting his name, and wanted him to see it.
“Glad to know it; wouldn't like to think you were mixed up in the swindle. You ought to thank your stars, my dear fellow, that you got into architecture instead of into Wall—”
“But I am in—”
“Yes, I know—you're with Hunt—” (another instance of a defective memory) “and you couldn't be with a better man—the best in the profession, really. I'm talking of some scoundrels of your name—Breen & Co., the firm is—who, I hear, have cheated one of my clients—young Gilbert—fine fellow—just married—persuaded him to buy some gold stock—Mukton Lode, I think they called it—and robbed him of all he has. He must stop on his house I hear. And now, my dear Miss—” here he turned to the young girl—“I really forget—”
“Ruth,” she answered with a smile. She had taken Morris's measure and had already begun to like him as much as Jack did.
“Yes—Miss Ruth—Now, please, my dear girl, keep on being young and very beautiful and very wholesome, for you are every one of these things, and I know you'll forgive me for saying so when I tell you that I have two strapping young fellows for sons who are almost old enough to make love to you. Come, Peter, show me that copy of Tacitus you wrote me about. Is it in good condition?” They were out of Jack's hearing now, Morris adding, “Fine type of Southern beauty, Peter. Big design, with broad lines everywhere. Good, too—good as gold. Something about her forehead that reminds me of the Italian school. Looks as if Bellini might have loved her. Hello, Major! What are you doing here all by yourself?”