“Nothing out of the usual run; I think Gregory may come in, but you needn’t trouble about him. Tell him I’ll see him when I come back.”
“He was in to-day, now that I think of it,” remarked Wayne, thrusting his hands into his pockets, “and waited an hour for you.”
“I’m perfectly aware of that,” snapped Colonel Craighill. “I was busy and sent word for him to see Morehead. He’s so persistent lately that he’s lost any claim he had as an old acquaintance and we’ll let him face the facts squarely with our lawyer.”
He spoke with considerable irritation, but he controlled himself and adjusted his glasses to read.
It was the first time that he had shown anger before his wife. She had wondered whether anything could shatter his perfect poise and affability, and his display of temper frightened her, much as exhibitions of anger in adults alarm and dismay children.
“I must get my bag; I’m holding the car,” said Wayne to Addie. “I hope you’ll have a fine outing.”
“Wayne,” interposed Colonel Craighill, “your man Joe doesn’t seem quite essential to this establishment. It seems to me we might get along with one chauffeur between us.”
“Then,” grinned Wayne, “you had better fire yours. Joe has been here longer, and we must stick to the merit system if the heavens fall.”
“Joe’s a sporting character; my man is a trained mechanic. A number of men have spoken to me of Joe’s reckless driving of your machines.”
“They ought to speak to me. If you don’t want Joe on the place I’ll move my car to a public garage.”