"Yes, sir." Peter looked out at the window.
The old gentleman scrutinized Peter a moment; then his faded eyes wandered about the library.
"Still working at the books, cross-indexing them—"
"Yes, sir." Peter could divine by the crinkle of his nerves the very loci of the girl as she passed down the thoroughfare.
"Very good," said the old lawyer, absently. He was obviously preoccupied with some other topic. "Very good," he repeated with racking deliberation; "quite good. How did that globe get bent?"
Peter, looking at it, did not remember either knocking it over or setting it up.
"I don't know," he said rapidly. "I hadn't noticed it."
"Old Rose did it," meditated the Captain aloud, "but it's no use to accuse her of it; she'd deny it. And yet, on the other hand, Peter, she'll be nervous until I do accuse her of it. She'll be dropping things, breaking up my china. I dare say I'd best accuse her at once, storm at her some to quiet her nerves, and get it over."
This monologue spurred Peter's impatience into an agony.
"I believe you were wanting me, Captain?" he suggested, with a certain urge for action.