"Who wanted me?" Horace asked the question of the mystified servant.
"I didn't catch the name, Sir. I didn't understand it. He's a dreadful-looking man."
Horace rose, put down his cigar, and walked into the hall.
Lon Cronk was waiting with a shabby cap in his hand. He bowed awkwardly to Shellington, and essayed to speak; but Horace interrupted:
"Do you wish to see me?"
"Yep," answered Lon, glancing sullenly over the young lawyer. "I've come for my brats."
"Your what?"
"My kids, Flea and Flukey Cronk."
Horace felt something clutch at his heart. Fledra's radiant face rose before his mental vision, and he swallowed hard, as he thought of her relation to the brutal fellow before him.
"Walk in here, please," he said.