“You’re two minutes ahead of schedule, James. How’s your leg?”
“Much easier, sir,” replied that youth, working his foot on the brake-pedal tentatively.
Bascomb ran up the steps and entered the wide hallway, so similar, in its general characteristics of ponderous ornamentation, to a hundred others on the street, and rushed up the soft carpeted stairs.
“Hello, Bess!”
“Hello, Wallie. No, you can’t come in, but I’ll be down in—five minutes.”
“Well, if you’re at the ‘can’t-come-in’ stage I can see five minutes do a glide from six-thirty to seven and not shed a hair. Little brother Wallie is in for a quick change from ‘sads’ to ‘glads.’ I’ll be back for you at half-past six exactly.”
“You’ll be back? Walter Bascomb, where are you going? I’m nearly ready.”
Wallie thrummed on the closed bedroom door.
“Down town—important. Asbestos gentleman with large check-book. Must dress. Ta ta, sis.”
He hurried to his room and reappeared in a few minutes in evening clothes. He stepped softly past his sister’s door and down the stair, a sleek, full-bodied figure, with much in the erect carriage of the head and breadth of shoulder suggesting the elder Bascomb. At that moment his sister swept from her room and came to the head of the stairs. He saw her as he swung into his coat.