“And we can begin our talk there, and finish it here,” said the publisher, putting down his desk-cover.
“Now, Jasper, my boy,” said old Mr. King, when the three were together in a quiet corner at the restaurant, “I’m going to say something that will perhaps make you feel badly a bit.”
Jasper put up his hand involuntarily.
“It won’t make a thing come a minute the sooner for talking of it,” said the old gentleman cheerily; “but I’m not going to live forever, and that’s a fact. I never should have lasted half so long if it hadn’t been for you, my boy,” laying his hand across the little table on Jasper’s, who grasped it eagerly, “and for those blessed Peppers. And, dear me, I mean to go right straight on living a long while yet,” he added, with a glance at Jasper’s pale face. “But I want a good talk with both of you to-day. I don’t mind saying that a certain thing troubles me, and I want to get it off my mind.”
Mr. Marlowe said nothing, his clear-cut face quietly turned to the old gentleman, waiting for him to proceed.
“There’s no man living, Marlowe, that I’d ask advice from sooner than you,” said Mr. King; “and that you know.”
A bright smile shot over the publisher’s face, lighting up the keen gray eyes with a world of affection. “I know,” he said simply.
“It’s about Phronsie,” said old Mr. King brokenly, and his handsome white head drooped.
“Don’t, father,” began Jasper, dreadfully distressed; “Phronsie wouldn’t want you to feel badly.”
“I would let your father speak what is on his mind, Jasper,” said Mr. Marlowe quietly.