Arthur Carroll no longer smiled, but his voice had a certain urbanity, although it rang imperiously. “Now, see here,” he said. “I want to know why you did not do as I left instructions at your shop?”
“To what do you refer?” inquired Anderson, quietly.
“I want to know why you did not send in your bill last Saturday night, as I ordered.” Carroll's voice was so loud that Mrs. Anderson, in the house, heard him distinctly through the open windows.
“I did not know that you had so ordered,” replied Anderson, still quietly, with a slight emphasis on the ordered. He looked slightly amused.
“Well, I did. I told your clerk to be sure to send in my bills promptly every Saturday morning. I wish to settle weekly.”
“The mistake was doubtless due to the fact that my clerk has been at home ill for the last three days,” said Anderson. “This is the first time I have heard of your order.”
“Well,” said Carroll, “send it in at once now, and don't let it happen again.”
Although the tone was harsh and the words were imperious, still they were not insolent. There was even an effect of camaraderie about them. At the last he flashed a quick smile at Anderson, which Anderson returned. He was dimly conscious all the time of Charlotte's very pretty face past her father's, peeping around his gray shoulder with a large-eyed, rather puzzled expression. Carroll nodded slightly after the smile, and told the coachman to go on, and the horses sprang forward after a delicate toss of their curving forelegs.
Randolph re-entered the house, and his mother, who was waiting, faced him with soft indignation.
“I must say, my son, that I am surprised that you submit to being addressed in such a fashion as that,” she said, her blue eyes darkening at him.