"But, I say, I'm not the right man, y' know," protested Lord James.
"The small part I had in it is not worth mentioning." He laid a hand on
Blake's broad shoulder. "It's my friend Thomas Blake you should thank."
Mr. Leslie stepped back and eyed Blake's impassive face with marked coldness. "Your friend Blake?" he repeated.
"Old friend—camp-mate, chum—all over Western America and South
Africa. It's he who's entitled to the credit for the rescue of Miss
Leslie."
"We'll talk about your part later. You'll, of course, call on us," said
Mr. Leslie. He fixed his narrowing eyes on Blake. "H'm. So you're Tom
Blake—the same one."
"That's no lie," replied Blake dryly.
"You heard me say I'm busy. Have no time to-day. I'll give you an appointment for to-morrow, at my office, ten A. M. sharp."
"Thanks. But you're a bit too previous," said Blake. "I haven't asked for any appointment with you that I know of."
"But, Tom!" exclaimed Genevieve, astonished at the hostility in his tone, "of course you'll go. Papa wishes to thank you for—for all you've done. To-day, you see, he's so very busy."
Blake's hard eyes softened before her appealing glance, only to stare back sullenly at her father.
"I'm not asking any thanks from him, Miss Jenny," he replied.