“You brick! My own Addie! My boy! My boy!”
He was as grateful as a child, caught his son in his arms:
“Addie, let me give you one more hug!”
“Well, be quick about it, Father, for I must really go, or I shall be late.”
Van der Welcke put his arms round him, kissed him on both cheeks, and flew upstairs. He undressed, flung his clothes to right and left, washed his face in a huge basin of water, shaved quickly, dressed himself neatly. He did all this with much fuss and rushing about, as though his toilet was a most important affair. Then he went downstairs. The table was laid. It was nearly seven. Constance would be there in no time. And, sitting down in the drawing-room with a cigarette, looking round the room—Constance’ room all over, in which he sat as a stranger—he hummed, while he waited for his wife and his son:
“And Ottocar had a motor-car; but I—have—none!...”
Chapter III
Addie ran up the stairs to the platform just as the train from Paris steamed in. He hurried along, looking into the windows.... There was Mamma, there was Mamma! And he flung himself on the handle, pulled open the door, helped Constance to alight.
“Ah!” he said. “There you are! There you are at last!”