“Mr. Peter!” Goring’s voice was on a note of exultation.
And into the room came a tall, lean man, a mongrel dog at his heels.
“Hullo, father!”
“Well, my boy!”
There was a grip of hands. Then the old man was sitting again by the fire, Peter opposite to him. There was a little silence. Democritus, sniffing at the black, hairy hearthrug, was completely engrossed with his own occupation. In the silence the two men watched him.
Presently he curled down with a thump. A quivering sigh of satisfaction passed through his body.
“It is evident,” said Peter with a little laugh, “that Democritus has come to stay.”
CHAPTER XXXII