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Hench and Beck looked at each other from time to time. Finally the door opened, and, to the relief of all, two sweatered and white-ducked individuals appeared. "And now, Jeems, we'll smoke the pipe of peace," suggested Bert, diving for the mantel and the pipe rack. "Correct, my boy," responded Jeems, doing likewise. They lit up, and turned with simultaneous interest to their latest caller.
Along the course at a brisk trot had come a sweatered figure, with cap pulled low, a man of lined and battered visage, who seemed to trot with a purpose, and yet with a purpose not to be discerned, for none pursued him and he appeared to pursue no one. He had stopped amiably to chat with the boy. He was sweating profusely, and chewed gum.
He spun round with a jump, flushed and self-conscious. From the window of the first-floor front of Number Seven a girl was leaning. The Spring sunshine played on her golden hair and lit up her bright blue eyes, fixed on his flanneled and sweatered person with a fascinated amusement. Even as he turned, the laugh smote him afresh.
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