But when Whimple asked for the cause of the battered visage, William merely answered that he had collided with a brick.
"Was the brick hurt any?"
"Well, not so's you'd notice it," retorted William smilingly.
"Um! It's rather unfortunate that it was such a hard object—for you, I mean," said Whimple. "You see I had intended to start you collecting rents to-day."
"Me!"
"Yes. Miss Whimple, my boy, is the possessor of some twenty houses; four of them in your district, William, to say nothing of some choice lots that are increasing in value every month. She's a wonderful woman, boy; her dad left her four houses to begin with, and she's done the rest. If I had her business ability, William, I'd be on the fair way to being wealthy now."
"But, Mister Whimple, my face won't matter. Like as not it'll give me a chance to talk to the people and find out whether they're good tenants or not. Let me try it, sir."
"All right. One of the tenants down your way owes two months' rent now, and in the other cases the rents are due to-day. Here are the addresses. You look after these four tenants every month; I'll take care of the others."
And forthwith William Adolphus Turnpike set out, as he expressed it to Lucien Torrance, "to round up some coin for Mister Whimple's aunt." He was proud of the trust imposed in him, and could not forbear a parting shot at Lucien.
"You're gotter stay here," he said importantly, "and answer fool questions when people call. But it's me to the front, Lucien Torrance, on a man's job."