“It would make him see what a pet lambkin you really are!”
“Well,” said Archie, “I’m bound to say that any scheme which what you might call culminates in your father regarding me as a pet lambkin ought to receive one’s best attention. How much did he offer Salvatore for his shop?”
“I don’t know. There is father.—Call him over and ask him.”
Archie glanced over to where Mr. Brewster had sunk moodily into a chair at a neighbouring table. It was plain even at that distance that Daniel Brewster had his troubles and was bearing them with an ill grace. He was scowling absently at the table-cloth.
“You call him,” said Archie, having inspected his formidable relative. “You know him better.”
“Let’s go over to him.”
They crossed the room. Lucille sat down opposite her father. Archie draped himself over a chair in the background.
“Father, dear,” said Lucille. “Archie has got an idea.”
“Archie?” said Mr. Brewster incredulously.
“This is me,” said Archie, indicating himself with a spoon. “The tall, distinguished-looking bird.”