"Where did you get breakfast?" was his next question.
"I haven’t had any," Ross replied. "I tried to get here by nine o’clock."
A low whistle escaped the father. He arose, and reached for his hat, which lay on the top of a safe behind him. "We’ll go out to lunch now."
Ross glanced doubtfully from his father’s well-groomed person to his own dirty coat.
"Perhaps, father, you’d like me to go out alone so long as––"
"Nonsense!" interrupted Grant brusquely.
As they left the room, he took his boy’s arm. There was little resemblance between the two. Ross had his uncle’s head with its high brow and well-shaped chin, lean cheeks, and prominent ears. He was taller than his father, but wholly lacked his father’s energetic manner and erect carriage.
"You graduated in June from Wyoming Seminary," the father stated as they entered a large Broadway restaurant and sat down near the door.
"Yes, sir."
"No honors?"