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"I want him to go straight out to my nephew at Santa Paz and stay there till his next birthday." Mr. Lavington signed to the butler to hand the terrapin to Mr. Grisben, who, as he took a second helping, addressed himself again to Rainer. "Jim's in New York now, and going back the day after tomorrow in Olyphant's private car. I'll ask Olyphant to squeeze you in if you'll go.
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.
"My dear boy!... Peters, another bottle...." He turned to his nephew. "After such a sin of omission I don't presume to propose the toast myself... but Frank knows.... Go ahead, Grisben!" The boy shone on his uncle. "No, no, Uncle Jack! Mr. Grisben won't mind. Nobody but you today!" The butler was replenishing the glasses. He filled Mr. Lavington's last, and Mr.
"Go AT ONCE," he added, as if a closer look at the youth's face had impressed on him the need of backing up his friend. Young Rainer had turned ashy-pale. He tried to stiffen his mouth, into a smile. "Do I look as bad as all that?" Mr. Grisben was helping himself to terrapin. "You look like the day after an earthquake," he said concisely.
No one was speaking when he entered they were evidently awaiting his return with the mute impatience of hunger, and he put the seal in Rainer's reach, and stood watching while Mr. Grisben struck a match and held it to one of the candles flanking the inkstand.
"Well, here goes." Rainer dipped his quill in the inkstand his uncle had pushed in his direction, and dashed a gallant signature across the document. Faxon, understanding what was expected of him, and conjecturing that the young man was signing his will on the attainment of his majority, had placed himself behind Mr. Grisben, and stood awaiting his turn to affix his name to the instrument.
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.
"It's queer a healthy face but dying hands," the secretary mused; he somehow wished young Rainer had kept on his glove. The whistle of the express drew the young men to their feet, and the next moment two heavily furred gentlemen had descended to the platform and were breasting the rigor of the night. Frank Rainer introduced them as Mr. Grisben and Mr.
He was just dimly aware of young Rainer's exclaiming: "Your turn, Mr. Grisben!" of Mr. Grisben's ceremoniously 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.
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