“Yes; he’s the little man in brown you spoke of. Well known about here, it seems. They say he’s been here as long as anyone can remember, and always the same. No one knows him—keeps ’imself to ’imself; a bit lonely for the girl.”
“That man!” cried Tony. “And he’s asked me to call! Why, it’s fate!”
He grasped Maradick’s arm excitedly.
“He’s her father! her father!” he cried. “And he’s asked us to call! Her father, and we’re to call!”
“You’re to call!” corrected Maradick. “He never said anything about me; he doesn’t want me.”
“Oh, of course you’re to come. ’Pon my word, Punch, you’re a brick. Is there anything else?”
“Well, yes,” said Punch slowly. “He came and spoke to me yesterday after the show. Said he liked it and was very pleasant. But I don’t like ’im all the same. I agree with that gentleman; there’s something queer there, and everyone says so.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Tony. “Never mind about the man. He’s her father, that’s the point. My word, what luck!”
But Punch shook his head dubiously.
“What do they say against him, then?” said Tony. “What reasons have they?”