“Aren’t you a little premature, Mr. Bannister? Aren’t you taking a good deal for granted?”
“In what way?”
“Well, that Miss Bannister cares the slightest bit for me, for instance; that I’ve one chance in a million of ever getting her to care the slightest bit for me?”
Bailey was disgusted at this futile attempt to hide the known facts of the case from him.
“You need not trouble to try and fool me, Mr. Winfield,” he said tartly. “I know everything. I have just seen my sister, and she told me herself in so many words that she intended to marry you.”
To his amazement he found his hand violently shaken.
“My dear old man!” Kirk was stammering in his delight. “My dear old sport, you don’t know what a weight you’ve taken off my mind. You know how it is. A fellow falls in love and instantly starts thinking he hasn’t a chance on earth. I hadn’t a notion she felt that way about me. I’m not fit to shine her shoes. My dear old man, if you hadn’t come and told me this I never should have had the nerve to say a word to her.
“You’re a corker. You’ve changed everything. You’ll have to excuse me. I must go to her. I can’t wait a minute. I must rush and dress. Make yourself at home here. Have you breakfasted? George! George! Say, George, I’ve got to rush away. See that Mr. Bannister has everything he wants. Get him some breakfast. Good-bye, old man.” He gripped Bailey’s hand once more. “You’re all right. Good-bye!”
He sprang for the staircase. George Pennicut turned to the speechless Bailey.
“How would it be if I made you a nice cup of hot tea and a rasher of ’am, sir?” he inquired with a kindly smile.