Anger which found its expression in an exaggerated politeness was out of his line and made him uncomfortable.
After what seemed to him a century, John Bannister dismissed the secretary. Even then, however, he did not come immediately to Steve. He remained for a few moments writing, with his back turned. Then, just when Steve had given up hope of ever securing his attention, he turned suddenly.
“Well?”
“Say, it’s this way, colonel,” Steve had begun, when a triumphant cry from the direction of the open window stopped him. The White Hope was kneeling on a chair, looking down into the street.
“Bix,” he explained over his shoulder.
“Kindly ring the bell, Dingle,” said Mr. Bannister, unmoved. “Your little nephew appears to have dropped his bricks into Fifth Avenue.”
In answer to the summons Keggs appeared. He looked anxious.
“Keggs,” said Mr. Bannister, “tell one of the footmen to go out into the avenue and pick up some wooden bricks which he will find there. Dingle’s little brother has let some fall.”
As Keggs left the room Steve’s pent-up nervousness exploded in a whirl of words.
“Aw say, boss, quit yer kiddin’. You know this kid ain’t anything to do with me. Why, say, how would he be any relation of a roughneck like me? Come off the roof, bo. You know well enough who he is. He’s your grandson. On the level.”