“Come right up, Steve!” he called.
Stephen came. His uncle ushered him into the room, closed the door, and turned the key.
“Stevie,” he said, kindly, “I’m glad to see you. Take off your things and set down.”
The boy accepted the invitation only to the extent of throwing his hat on the table. He did not sit or remove his overcoat. He was pale, his eyes were swollen and red, his hair was disarranged, and in all respects he looked unlike his usual blasé and immaculate self. His forehead was wet, showing that he had hurried on his way to the boarding house.
The captain regarded him pityingly.
“Set down, Stevie,” he urged. “You’re all het up and worn out.”
His nephew paid no attention. Instead he asked a question.
“You know about it?” he demanded.
“Yes, Stevie; I know.”
“You do? I—I mean about the—the Akrae Company and—and all?”