They were silent again. Wade pulled serenely at his pipe, and Stephen stared from the window. He was trying to fathom his relation to the events of which Wade had told him.
On the street below, Gibbs suddenly appeared from around a corner. He paused when he was opposite the building, and glanced across uncertainly at Wade's windows; then he hurried forward at the best speed of his old legs. Stephen followed his movements with his glance.
“What are you looking at, Steve?” asked Wade.
“General Gibbs, he seems to be coming here,” he said, and then they heard Gibbs come shuffling up the stairs and down the hall. Purple-faced and perspiring the general entered the room.
“Is Steve here?” he demanded gruffly. Then he saw the two young men by the window. “I want to see you, Steve,” he said, ignoring Wade. “I been out to your aunt's; Mrs. Walsh told me I'd probably find you here.”
Stephen glanced questioningly at Wade, who quitted his chair.
“I'll just step out for a minute; no doubt the general will prefer to see you alone.” He put down his pipe, and reached for his hat.
Gibbs appeared to be having some sort of an attack. He was sputtering and choking. Then he whirled furiously on Wade.
“Don't you speak to me—I forbid it!” he roared. “You scoundrelly busybody—you miserable sneaking shyster! Never speak to me again, or damn your soul—I'll strike you with my cane!”
Stephen placed his hand restrainingly on the old man's arm, and sought to draw him toward the front of the room. He gave Wade a glance of mute appeal, but Wade was standing with his hands buried deep in his pockets. He was regarding Gibbs with a smile of kindly tolerance. Resentment was remote from him. The thought of his success rested on him like a benediction. He was not to be moved by anything so impotent as the general's rage. He turned at last with a light laugh and quitted the room.