“Come out in the hall, grandfather,” he said, taking him by the arm, “the air is cooler.”
“Law me,” he groaned, when they reached the hall window, “look at the carriages dashing down the avenue. The Brown-Gardners’ and the Darley-Jameses’, and the Rector’s—”
“Titus,” called a sudden voice, “there’s a deputation from your school coming. They’ve just telephoned. Can you go down and receive them?”
“No, I can’t,” growled Titus, “I’m going to stay with grandfather. Go yourself.”
Dallas raised himself on tiptoe and stared across some heads at them.
“Anything I can do for the Judge?” he asked, calling a halt in his excitement.
“No,” responded Titus, “go on. I’ll stay with him.”
“A telephone message for Mr. Tom Everest,” called a piercing voice. “His father wants him on business at the iron works.”
The Judge straightened his tall form and looked in through the open door of his study. A strange young man sat at his telephone desk. He was receiving and giving messages, as if the house belonged to him.
“The Mayor to see the Judge, the Mayor, the Mayor,” reiterated a number of voices, and a passage was made between the people, who by this time crowded the staircase and the upper hall.