"What?" demanded Mr. Letts.
"The furniture I told you about," said Mrs. Green. "The furniture that your poor father thought such a lot of, because it used to belong to his grandfather. He's selling it to Simpson, though I begged and prayed him not to."
Mr. Letts encouraged himself with a deep cough. "My furniture?" he demanded.
Mrs. Green took courage. "Yes," she said, hope-fully; "your father left it to you."
Mr. Letts, carrying his head very erect, took a firmer grip of their arms and gazed steadily at a disagreeable-looking man who was eying them in some astonishment from the doorway. With arms still linked they found the narrow gateway somewhat difficult, but they negotiated it by a turning movement, and, standing in the front garden, waited while Mrs. Green tried to find her voice.
"Jack," she said at last, "this is your stepfather."
Mr. Letts, in some difficulty as to the etiquette on such occasions, released his right arm and extended his hand.
"Good-evening, stepfather," he said, cheerfully.