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Grisben's paternally pointing out the precise spot on which he was to leave his autograph. The effort to fix his attention and steady his hand prolonged the process of signing, and when he stood up a strange weight of fatigue on all his limbs the figure behind Mr. Lavington's chair was gone. Faxon felt an immediate sense of relief.
And the trip out there with Olyphant isn't a thing to be missed. So drop a few dozen dinners and be at the Grand Central the day after to-morrow at five." Mr. Grisben's pleasant gray eye sought corroboration of his host, and Faxon, in a cold anguish of suspense, continued to watch him as he turned his glance on Mr. Lavington.
He was just dimly aware of young Reiner's exclaiming; "Your turn, Mr. Grisben!" of Mr. Grisben's protesting: "No no; Mr. Faxon first," and of the pen's being thereupon transferred to his own hand. He received it with a deadly sense of being unable to move, or even to understand what was expected of him, till he became conscious of Mr.
"I should like to telephone to Weymore," he said with dry lips. "Sorry, sir; wires all down. We've been trying the last hour to get New York again for Mr. Lavington." Faxon shot on to his room, burst into it, and bolted the door. The mild lamplight lay on furniture, flowers, books, in the ashes a log still glimmered. He dropped down on the sofa and hid his face.
John Lavington, during his nephew's blundering attempt to drop the wax and apply the seal, continued to fasten on him a look of half-amused affection; while the man behind the chair, so oddly reduplicating the lines of his features and figure, turned on the boy a face of pale hostility. The impression was so startling Faxon forgot what was going on about him.
It's a lot easier with the wind behind us." "All right. Don't talk any more." They pushed ahead, walking, in spite of the light that guided them, more slowly than Faxon had walked alone into the gale. "So am I. Who wouldn't be?" "What a dance you led me! If it hadn't been for one of the servants' happening to see you " "Yes: all right. And now, won't you kindly shut up?"
The little steamer lay at the wharf, and George Faxon, sitting in the veranda of the wooden hotel, idly watched the coolies carrying the freight across the gang-plank. He had been looking at such scenes for two months.
If you don't mind waiting till they arrive I'm sure Overdale can do you better than Northridge. We're only down from town for a few days, but the house is always ready for a lot of people." "But your uncle ?" Faxon could only object, with the odd sense, through his embarrassment, that it would be magically dispelled by his invisible friend's next words. "Oh, my uncle you'll see! I answer for him!
Grisben, and we don't dine for half an hour. Shall I fetch you, or can you find your way down? Come straight to the dining room the second door on the left of the long gallery." He disappeared, leaving a ray of warmth behind him, and Faxon, relieved, lit a cigarette and sat down by the fire. Looking about with less haste, he was struck by a detail that had escaped him.
Faxon says my Uncle Jaspar is quite a different man, and is ready to restore all my rights." "Finally," said De Guy, "here is your uncle's own signature. This letter I wrote by his dictation, but he, with much difficulty, signed his name."
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