“This is James Hazard, my dear. His mother has taken the Timberlake house, you know.”
The Principal was a sturdily built man of fifty-odd, clean-shaven, with a nice face and a voice that made you like him instantly. In appearance he was more the business man than the scholar. Jim had met Mr. Gordon several times already, but Mrs. Gordon he had never seen. She asked kindly about Jim’s mother and how the house was prospering. Then another boy claimed her attention and Jim stepped back out of the way just as Jeffrey, who had found difficulty in getting through the throng, reached Mr. Gordon.
“How do you do?” greeted the Principal, shaking hands in his hearty way. “And what is your name? We haven’t met before, have we? You must set me right if I am wrong. I confess that I sometimes forget a face.”
“My name is Latham, sir, Jeffrey Latham. I came to-day.”
“To be sure! And so you’re Latham, eh? I believe—yes, I think I might have known it, my boy, for there is certainly a strong resemblance to your father. And how is the Senator? Well, I trust?”
“Yes, sir, thank you.”
“I’m pleased to hear it. A fine man, Latham. I have had the pleasure of meeting him once or twice in a casual way. I hope you’ll find your stay with us happy and profitable, Latham. You must come and take tea with Mrs. Gordon and me some evening.”
As Jeffrey shook hands with Mrs. Gordon and turned away Poke Endicott, who had been next him in line, dragged him aside.
“What did J. G. mean about the Senator, Latham? Is he your father?”
“Yes,” replied Jeffrey.