“He said she was to keep two accounts, sir: one for the servants’ table and one for the house.”
“Oh, that’s probably from old Barton.”
“Barton––yes, sir, that was the name. Shall I bring you the letter, sir?”
“Don’t bother, Nora. It’s all right. He’s my new bookkeeper.”
“Very well, sir. Then you’ll give orders for what you want?”
“Yes, Nora.”
In the library an open fire was burning brightly on the hearth, as always it had been kept burning for his father. With his hands behind his back, he stood before it and gazed around the big room. It seemed curiously empty with the old man gone. The machinery of the house as adjusted by him still continued to run on smoothly. And yet, where at certain hours he should have been, he was not. It was uncanny.
It was a little after one; Don determined to change his clothes and stroll downtown for luncheon––possibly at Sherry’s. He was always sure there of running across some one he knew.
He went to his room and dressed with some care, and then walked down to Forty-fourth Street. Before deciding to enter the dining-room, 15 however, he stood at the entrance a moment to see if there was any one there he recognized. Jimmy Harndon saw him and rose at once.