The boy swung round joyously.
“Dad!” he shouted, and there was glad greeting in his tone. “You bully old dad!”
He caught his father by the hand and shoulder with both his hands, but John Carrington held him off mechanically.
For the figure sitting up in bed, flushed, mischievous and laughing at his bewilderment, was Ned!
The hands that grasped John Carrington’s arm and shoulder gripped him, shook him slightly.
“She’s been ripping, perfectly ripping, dad, and I’m four months late, but be a little glad to see me,” this Ned’s laughing voice went on.
“She——” John Carrington stammered.
Ned waved a genial hand toward the figure in the bed.
“Miss Elenore Carrington, the most successful self-made man in history!” he announced, with a flourish.