Dick’s face was white. He took Johnny Graham’s hand and bowed, with some murmured reference to pleasure.
“This is my friend, Mr. Duggan, Mr. Temple,” Annie went on placidly, “and Mrs. Pugsley.”
Dick bowed twice. He saw dimly, in the dusky kitchen interior, two other figures, one of which, assisted by the other, was struggling into a coat.
“Why, now set down, sir,” Johnny said joyously; “take a seat and set down. Annie, now, can’t you make room there by Dave? We was just setting out to eat our tea, sir; it’s so hot, we was late,—but it’s the style to be late, I hear! I guess we ain’t eat up everything, have we, Annie? I guess there’s something left for your gentleman friend.”
“You’re very kind,” Dick protested feebly; but he sat down, too bewildered to find any excuse.
Annie put a plate before him, and told him he must have some iced tea.
“It’s the only thing that makes life possible in this weather,” she said; “but I can’t make father believe it; he takes his boiling.”
“Well, sir,” said Johnny, “you had quite a jaunt to get out here, hadn’t you? But I don’t mind the walk myself, back and forth from my work, for it’s fresher out here.”
“I didn’t know your address,” Dick said, not looking at Annie; “I’ve been driving round”—
“When I saw that carriage drive up,” Mrs. Pugsley said, still panting, “I thought a lady friend of mine had sent for me; it give me such a start!”