As they were shaking hands, the chug of an automobile could be heard in the roadway.
"That must be my husband!" Helen exclaimed. "Won't you wait a minute and see him?"
The heavy, lumbering machine with its ugly fat wheels rolled up the driveway, and after a final heave and sigh came to a stand before the veranda. The driver leaped down and opened the little door in the rear for his master to descend. The architect was smoking a cigar and carried in his arms a heavy bag of papers and books.
"Hello, Nell!" he called cheerily, and then looked inquiringly at the man beside her.
"Francis, this is Mr. Hussey. You remember Mr. Hussey who gave us lessons in bookbinding?"
"How do you do?" The architect greeted Hussey with a pleasant nod. "Very glad to see you again."
He held out his free hand in the simple, cordial fashion that made him popular in his office and with the foremen on his buildings. He always made a point of being genial with working people. He got more out of them that way and often avoided friction. He usually carried about with him a handful of black and strong cigars, which he dealt out on the slightest occasion.
"Sit down again, won't you?" he remarked. "Have a cigar?"
He pulled out one of the proper variety from his inner pocket.
"I don't smoke," the bookbinder replied shortly.