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Waythorn," the senior clerk said with affable significance. "Mr. Sellers was very much upset at the idea of giving you such a lot of extra work just now." "Oh, that's no matter," said Waythorn hastily. He secretly welcomed the pressure of additional business, and was glad to think that, when the day's work was over, he would have to call at his partner's on the way home.
The hat was often seen there now, for it had been decided that it was better for Lily's father to visit her than for the little girl to go to his boarding-house. Waythorn, having acquiesced in this arrangement, had been surprised to find how little difference it made. Haskett was never obtrusive, and the few visitors who met him on the stairs were unaware of his identity.
The two exchanged a word on the perennial grievance of the congested trains, and when a seat at their side was miraculously left empty the instinct of self-preservation made Waythorn slip into it after Varick. The latter drew the stout man's breath of relief. "Lord I was beginning to feel like a pressed flower." He leaned back, looking unconcernedly at Waythorn.
Waythorn waited, and the other went on, after a pause apparently given to the arrangement of his phrases: "The fact is, when I was knocked out I had just gone into a rather complicated piece of business for Gus Varick." "Well?" said Waythorn, with an attempt to put him at his ease. "Well it's this way: Varick came to me the day before my attack.
Then he laid his hat on the table, and advanced to the hearth-rug, on which Waythorn was standing. There was nothing aggressive in his manner; but he had the solemnity of a timid man resolved on a decisive measure. "There's just one thing you can do, Mr. Waythorn," he said. "You can remind Mrs. Waythorn that, by the decree of the courts, I am entitled to have a voice in Lily's bringing up."
He had a resigned way of speaking, as though life had worn down his natural powers of resistance. Waythorn stood on the threshold, nervously pulling off his gloves. "I'm sorry you've been detained. I will send for the nurse," he said; and as he opened the door he added with an effort: "I'm glad we can give you a good report of Lily."
He was vaguely supposed to have remained in the outer darkness from which his wife had been rescued, and Waythorn was one of the few who were aware that he had given up his business in Utica and followed her to New York in order to be near his little girl. In the days of his wooing, Waythorn had often met Lily on the doorstep, rosy and smiling, on her way "to see papa." "I am so sorry," Mrs.
They were his, those white hands with their flitting motions, his the light haze of hair, the lips and eyes.... She set down the coffee-pot, and reaching for the decanter of cognac, measured off a liqueur-glass and poured it into his cup. Waythorn uttered a sudden exclamation. "What is the matter?" she said, startled. "Nothing; only I don't take cognac in my coffee."
But Waythorn knew how many ambiguities such a verdict might cover. The mere fact that Haskett retained a right over his daughter implied an unsuspected compromise. Waythorn was an idealist. He always refused to recognize unpleasant contingencies till he found himself confronted with them, and then he saw them followed by a special train of consequences.
"Sorry to hear that Sellers is knocked out again." "Sellers?" echoed Waythorn, starting at his partner's name. Varick looked surprised. "You didn't know he was laid up with the gout?" "No. I've been away I only got back last night." Waythorn felt himself reddening in anticipation of the other's smile. "Ah yes; to be sure. And Sellers's attack came on two days ago. I'm afraid he's pretty bad.
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