“The doctor says—”
“Doctor! Why, I didn’t know there was anything wrong with you that way.”
“The doctor says I need a rest,” continued the elder man. “I’m going to Florida for the winter, with Bessie. Sorry you can’t come, Wallie, but when things get straightened out—” He hesitated and glanced at his son.
“We’ll straighten ’em,” replied Wallie cheerfully. “But about that second survey?”
“That has been abandoned. It wasn’t—practical, you know.”
“Hum! Yes, I know. Well, I’m off to get Livingstone. See you at dinner, Dad.”
As the younger man waited for the elevator, he muttered, “Poor old pater—down and out completely. Well, it’s up to me to make good.”
CHAPTER XX—HOME FOR CHRISTMAS
“Yes, mam, I come fur Swickey.”
Avery, muffled in winter clothing, his white beard powdered with snow, seemed to Miss Wilkins to embody in his huge proportions the spirit of the December storm that swept hissing by her door, striking fantastic forest silhouettes on the shop windows behind which stood a dejected-looking array of plumes and bonnets, only dimly visible to the passer-by.