Then, having offered libation on the altars of weather, politics, and cricket, the baronet felt himself at liberty to touch on business matters.
"Have you heard when Clifford will be back?" he asked.
"Let me see. To-day's the 26th. I expect him not later than May 3rd. Probably sooner."
"Everything going smooth?"
"Yes; fine. I'm glad we delayed the issue until May. Canada's getting well in the public eye just now. When the leaves spread out on the park-trees, town-dwellers begin to remember that the country grows crops. They recollect that there's 40 million acres of cropland in Canada—250 million bushels of wheat to move. They awake to the notion that the wheat will need transport to Europe. Yes, early May is the time for our Hudson Bay issue—Clifford was right in suggesting the postponement."
Olive caught the new drift of conversation between her father and her guest, and turned to cut in.
"Olaf would like to see the aviary," she said to her father. "Especially the new owl. It's so amusing to look at in the daytime. Will you take him round and show him everything?"
The boy jumped up gleefully, and Sir Francis roused himself from his easy-chair to obey his daughter's order. He had grown accustomed to obeying—experience had shown him it was more comfortable in the long run to do as she wished.
"Bring some cake along, and we'll feed the birds," he said to the boy, and the two moved off together to the aviary, which lay sheltered under the south wall of the house.
When the two were out of earshot, Larssen turned smilingly to Olive, and his tone was that of one who finds himself at home again.