“If our ancestors had but used their common sense,” Frank said, “which with respect to the treatment of their children they never seem to have done, they would have seen that the straightest and best formed people in the world, the Arabs of the Desert, and I may add the North American Indians—as they used to be, before they were improved off the face of the earth—never sat on a chair in their lives, but always either lay at full length, or squatted on the ground with their backs in a bow.
“Halloa!” he broke off; “there’s a single knock at the door; I wonder who that can be, I have not ordered anything that I know of.”
So saying he got up and went to the outer door. A boy was standing there.
“Please, sir, I want to see Mr. Maynard.”
“I am Mr. Maynard,” Frank said; “what do you want?”
“Please, sir, my name is Evan Holl.”
“Oh, is it you, Evan? Come in, it is so dark out here I did not know you again. I am glad you have come.”
Frank led the way back again into the sitting-room, followed by Evan, greatly abashed at the splendour of its belongings.
“Well, Evan, my lad,” Frank said, leaning against the mantel, “I suppose your mother has told you what I said to her. Mr. Prescott here and I were so much pleased with your pluck the other day at the Serpentine, that I thought we should get on together capitally, for if there’s one thing more than another I like, it is pluck. What do think of it; would you like to come?”
“Please, sir, I should like it very much.”