“I am the head tuner,” he said with dignity, “we understood it was a case where the highest skill was needed.”
She looked at him coldly.
“I don’t know that it demands much of what you call skill,” she retorted acidly. “You have come at a singularly inconvenient hour. Please get to work at once.”
With this she left the room. The butler gazed after her scowling.
“Do you have to put up with that all day?” Trent asked him.
“How the boss stands it I don’t know,” said the butler.
“Why take it out on a mere piano tuner?” Trent asked.
The butler winked knowingly. He dug Trent in the ribs with a fine, free and friendly gesture.
“Speaking as one man of the world to another,” he observed, “I guess you spoiled a little tête-à-tête as we say in gay Paree. Mr. Carr Faulkner leaves the Union Club at seven and walks up the Avenue in time to dress for his dinner at eight. There’s another gentleman leaves another club on the same Avenue and gets here as a rule at six and leaves in time to avoid the master.” The butler leaned forward and whispered in the tuner’s ear, “She’s crazy about him. The only man who doesn’t know is the boss. It’s always the way,” added the self-confessed man of the world, “I wouldn’t trust any woman living. The more they have the worse they are. If ever I marry I’ll take a job as lighthouse keeper and take my wife along.”
“Will they come in here?” Trent asked anxiously. He wanted the opportunity to do his own work while the family dined and he did not want to be seen by an unnecessary person. He disliked taking even a million to one shot.