“Upstairs dressing, I think, Father.”
Mr. Piper hesitates.
“Well, you might tell her—it's nothing of consequence but I must go in to town for a few hours—I shall have them give me a sandwich or so now and catch the 7.03, I think.”
“But look, Father, Oliver has to go in too, for dinner—he's taking the two-seater now. Why don't you let him take you too—that would save time—” “Perfectly delighted to, Mr. Piper, of course, and—”
Mr. Piper looks full at Oliver—a little strangely, Oliver thinks.
“That would be—” Mr. Piper begins, and then seems to change his mind for no apparent reason. “No, I think the train would be better, I do not wish to get in too early, though I thank you, Oliver,” he says with an old-fashioned bob of his head. “And now I must really—a little food perhaps”—and he escapes before either Oliver or Peter has time to argue the question. Oliver turns to Peter.
“Look here, Pete, if I'm—”
“You're not. Oh I'd think it'd be a lot more sensible of Father to let you take him in, but you never can tell about Father. Something must be up, though, in spite of what he says—he's supposed to be on a vacation and I haven't seen him look the way he does tonight since some of the tight squeezes in the war.”