“Don't you admire pictures, Mr. Holden?” asked Herbert.
“That's that you called me? I didn't quite catch on to it.”
“Mr. Holden. Isn't that your name?”
“Don't call me mister. I'm plain Jack Holden. Call me Jack.”
“I will if you prefer it,” said Herbert, dubiously.
“Of course I do. We don't go much on style in the woods. Won't you come home with me, and take a look at my cabin? I ain't used to company, but we can sit down and have a social smoke together, and then I'll manage to find something to eat.”
“Thank you, Mr. Holden—I mean, Jack—but I must be getting home; Mr. Melville will be feeling anxious, for, as it is, I shall be late.”
“Is Mr. Melville, as you call him, any way kin to you?”
“No; he is my friend and employer.”
“Young man?”