The figure of a tall man stood in it, surveying the room.
Uncle William’s smile broke into radiance. It crinkled his eyes and nose and mouth. “I said ’t was you.” He held out a big hand, and drew the man into the room, peering behind him. A little look of disappointment came over his face. “You all alone?” he demanded.
“I am at present,” said the man, smiling. “I left a friend on the beach below. I wasn’t sure how I should find you.” His courteous glance took in the young man.
Uncle William turned quickly. “It’s Mr. Curie,” he said, “the one that bought your picters. And he’s left somebody—a friend—down below. Mebbe you wouldn’t mind stepping down and fetchin’ ’em up.”
“Of course.” The young man rose, holding out a hand. “I’m glad to meet you, sir. I shall be back in a minute. I’ll bring him right up.” His step rang quick on the rock outside.
The two old men looked at each other.
Uncle William’s face wore its roundest smile. “I wouldn’t be s’prised if he stayed quite a spell.” He brought a chair and planted it in front of the stranger. “Set down.”
The man sat down, looking around the room. “It is good to be here,” he said.
Uncle William, with a hand on either knee, surveyed him over his spectacles. “I saw ’t was you ’fore you landed.”
The man’s face fell a little. “We wanted to surprise you—”