“But, uncle,” said George, “I wanted to ask you if——”
Colonel Ellison frowned, and impatiently seized his pen.
“You have my permission,” he said sharply. “Not another word, young man.”
He waved his hand, and George left the room.
“Well, it’s not my fault if he doesn’t like it,” thought the boy. “Let’s see how things stand. I have his permission to go to Albany; he said ‘Jack Lyons’ father is a good lawyer and useful citizen’; in that case, Jack must be all right, too. Besides, he would have consented—of course he would.” And, having satisfied himself that everything was as it ought to be, George retired, with pleasant visions of his trip.
Colonel Ellison left before George had a chance to see him, and the latter ate a hasty breakfast alone, his aunt having also gone to New York.
Then he packed up a few necessary belongings, donned one of his oldest suits, and made his way to the garage.
“Bon jour, Pierre,” he said.
“Bon jour, monsieur,” returned the Frenchman, politely. “You desire to speak with me?”
“Yes, get out the machine, Pierre. We’ll have a spin.”