ADMONITION
There was a light in the den as Darley Roberts, having let himself in with his latch-key, started up the stairs toward his own rooms, and, although he moved softly, Harry Randall himself faced the newcomer on the landing, his hand extended.
“I was waiting for you,” he announced without preface. “I felt sure you’d be in to-night sometime.” He was smiling a welcome, one unmistakably genuine. “Delayed, were you?”
“Yes. A wreck out about seventy miles. I just got in on the relief,” laconically. The accompanying grip, however, was not curt. “You’ll read about it in the morning. Looks comfortable in there,” with a nod toward the inviting den. “Early enough yet for a chat, is it?”
“I was hoping so. That’s why I sat up.”
“Thanks. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Shortly, in lounging-robe and slippers this time, he came tiptoeing down the hall past the 321 other sleeping-rooms; a big alert shape that seemed mountainous beside the lesser Randall idly awaiting his return.
“Very well,” he introduced characteristically as he dropped into a convenient seat, “let’s hear all about it—everything. I’m listening.”
Randall caught the contagion of brevity, as he always did when in the other’s presence. “What would you like to hear about first?” he returned smilingly. “Have you any choice?”
“Yourself,” with a steady look. “Everything’s right, I see.”