had that effect on him.
He breezed into the library, carrying the wheelbarrow, the box of
bricks, and the dying pig, and trailing William in his wake. William's
grandfather was seated with his back to the door, dictating a letter to
one of his secretaries.
He looked up as Steve entered. He took in Steve and William in a rapid
glance and guessed the latter's identity in an instant. He had expected
something of this sort ever since he had heard of his grandson's birth.
Indeed, he had been somewhat surprised that the visit had not occurred
before.
He betrayed no surprise.
'One moment, Dingle,' he said, and turned to the secretary again. A
faint sneer came and went on his face.
The delay completed Steve's discomfiture. He placed the wheel harrow on
the floor, the box of bricks on the wheelbarrow, and the dying pig on
the box of bricks, whence it was instantly removed and inflated by
William.
''Referring to your letter of the eighth, '' said Mr. Bannister in his
cold, level voice.
He was interrupted by the incisive cry of the dying pig.
'Ask your son to be quiet, Dingle,' he said impassively.
Steve was staggered.
'Say, this ain't my son, squire,' he began breezily.
'Your nephew, then, or whatever relation he happens to be to you.'
He resumed his dictation. Steve wiped his forehead and looked
helplessly at the White Hope, who, having discarded the dying pig, was
now busy with the box of bricks.
Steve wished he had not come. He was accustomed to the primitive
exhibition of emotions, having moved in circles where the wrathful
expressed their wrath in a normal manner.
Anger which found its expression in an exaggerated politeness was out
of his line and made him uncomfortable.
After what seemed to him a century, John Bannister dismissed the
secretary. Even then, however, he did not come immediately to Steve. He
remained for a few moments writing, with his back turned. Then, just
when Steve had given up hope of ever securing his attention, he turned
suddenly.
'Well?'
'Say, it's this way, colonel,' Steve had begun, when a triumphant cry
from the direction of the open window stopped him. The White Hope was
kneeling on a chair, looking down into the street.
'Bix,' he explained over his shoulder.
'Kindly ring the bell, Dingle,' said Mr. Bannister, unmoved. 'Your
little nephew appears to have dropped his bricks into Fifth Avenue.'
In answer to the summons Keggs appeared. He looked anxious.
'Keggs,'
said Mr. Bannister, 'tell one of the footmen to go out into the avenue
and pick up some wooden bricks which he will find there. Dingle's
little brother has let some fall.'
