“Not necessary. You’ve a fortune in your airship. Take the girl away from Burthon. Keep her at home.”
Steve did not reply to this, but he decided it was not a bad suggestion.
“How old is she?” inquired Cumberford, presently.
“Just seventeen.”
“Too young to work in an office. Finished her education?”
“All we are able to give her, sir.”
“H-m-m. Take my advice. Burthon’s unreliable. I know him. Gorilla inside, man outside. I—I married a Burthon.”
These brief sentences were spoken between puffs of his cigarette. Sometimes there would be a very definite pause between them, while the man smoked and reflected upon his subject. Steve continued his work and answered when required to do so.
Cumberford stayed at the hangar until nearly noon, watching the boy work, bearing a hand now and then when a plane rib was awkward to handle alone, always interested in everything pertaining to the aëroplane. He made Steve explain the changes he proposed to apply to the lateral balance and offered one or two rather clever suggestions, showing his grasp of the subject. But he did not refer to Orissa again and finally slipped away without saying good-bye.
Steve thought him queerer than during their first interview, but liked him better.