“Are my friends.”
“You will come in?”
Average Jones examined a nodding rose with an indulgent, almost a paternal, expression.
“If you—er—think it—er—safe,” he murmured.
“Assuredly.”
As if exacting a pledge the young man held out his hand. The older one unhesitatingly grasped it. Average Jones turned the long fingers, which enclosed his, back upward, and glanced at them.
“Ah,” he said, and nodded soberly, “so, it is that.”
“Yes; it is that,” assented the other. “I perceive that you have communicated with Mr. Craig. How is he?”
“Out of danger.”
“That is well. A fine and manly youth. I should have sorely regretted it if—”