Hardscrabble, flushed and swollen with importance, stepped forward. He was about to place his hand on Roy's shoulder, but the boy checked him.
"No need for that. Peggy, if you'll have them get out the auto, we'll drive into town at once."
Mortlake stepped forward.
"Prescott," he said, "I hope you don't hold this against me. I——."
"I don't wish to speak to you, sir," shot out Roy, for the first time betraying indignation, "let that be your answer."
"But I—really, I'm sorry to—Bancroft you'll listen——"
But Jimsy turned his back on the flushed, overfed man whose eyes could not look him in the face.
"In the future please do us the honor not to speak to us," he said, his voice vibrant with anger.
"Why, if I may ask?"
Jimsy flashed round.