“Nothing private from me. Come in and spit it out. I’ll do just as well as the pater; he’s resting now.”
“Then I’ll come another night,” Max said, and was turning away, when a heavy voice called to them.
“What’s wanted there; don’t keep that door open. Ask him in.”
“All right, dad. You hear?” the supercilious youth said to Max. “You’ll have to come in.”
And Max, not knowing what else to do, entered the spacious hall, hat in hand, hoping if he kept still the man would appear.
He did not. Instead he called again: “Bring your friend into the library, Walter.”
There was nothing else but to obey. Through the doorway as they approached Max saw a child start up from a low seat beside her father and come toward the two boys, a beautiful little girl of six or seven.
“Come with me, kitten,” the young man said, a tenderness in his tone that surprised Max. “Dad has business on hand, Dottie.”
She ran to him catching his hand in both of her own, and danced beside him as he slowly crossed the room, which was small but richly furnished and lined with well-filled book cases.
A fire crackled cheerily, and a large man, with slippered feet to the blaze, lounged in a deep easy-chair.