"My watch was slow," replied Fred Ripley, using one hand to cover a slight yawn.
"Don't you see who is here?" demanded his father.
"Yes, sir."
"Is that all you have to say?"
"How do you do?" nodded Dick, for Lawyer Ripley was looking curiously from one boy to the other.
"Don't you—-er—-consider, Frederick, that it would be an excellent idea if you were to offer your hand to Mr. Prescott?" demanded the lawyer.
The ordeal was as distasteful to Dick as it could possibly have been to the Ripley heir. Yet Dick got quickly up out of his chair, accepting the slowly proffered hand of the sophomore.
"That's better," smiled the lawyer. "Now, I'll leave you two together for the moment."
The lawyer closed the door behind him as he stepped into the outer office.
Fred Ripley glanced covertly at Dick, who had remained standing. Even as big a sneak as young Ripley had shown himself at times to be, he knew perfectly well that he owed it, even to himself, to try to be gracious with the lad who had saved his life.