“Just such another day as the one we spent in Richmond Park together.”
The big Englishman turned his head and raised his eyes sharply.
“Good Gad! It’s the Seeker!” he exclaimed. His hand shot out, enveloped Wynne’s, and wrung it furiously. “Sit down! What the devil are you up to?”
“Waiting,” Wynne smiled; “but I haven’t given up hope.”
“Splendid—and this is fine”—he tweaked the apron. “Serious?”
“Oh, very.”
“A man now, eh?”
“Something of the kind.”
“Fine! though why the hell you couldn’t let us know what had become of you—”
“Touch of pride, Uncle Clem. I neither wanted to please my people nor disappoint you.”