West to watch the ticker and assure himself that the man he had backed
with a portion of the loot which he had accumulated in the form of tips
was doing justice to his judgment, for in private Keggs was essentially
the sport.
It was this that so endeared Steve to him. A few years ago Keggs had
won considerable sums by backing Steve, and the latter was always given
to understand that, as far as the lower regions of it were concerned,
the house on Fifth Avenue was open to him at all hours.
To-day he greeted Steve with enthusiasm and suggested a cigar in the
pantry before the latter should proceed to his work.
"He ain't ready for you yet, Mr. Dingle. He's lookin' over some papers
in, for goodness' sake, who's this?"
He had caught sight of William Bannister, who having wriggled free of
Steve, was being made much of by the maids.
"The kid," said Steve briefly.
"Not…… "
Steve nodded.
"Sure. His grandson."
Keggs' solemnity increased.
"You aren't going to take him upstairs with you?"
"Surest thing you know. That's why I brought him."
"Don't you do it, Mr. Dingle. 'E's in an awful temper this morning, he
gets worse and worse, he'll fire you as soon as look at you."
"Can't be helped. I've got me instructions."
"You always were game," said Keggs admiringly. "I used to see that
quick enough before you retired from active work. Well, good luck to
you, Mr. Dingle."
Steve gathered up William Bannister, the wheelbarrow, the box of
bricks, and the dying pig and made his way to the gymnasium.
The worst of these pre-arranged scenes is that they never happen just
as one figured them in one's mind. Steve had expected to have to wait a
few minutes in the gymnasium, then there would be a step outside and
the old man would enter. The beauty of this, to Steve's mind, was that
he himself would be "discovered," as the stage term is; the onus of
entering and opening the conversation would be on Mr. Bannister. And,
as everybody who has ever had an awkward interview knows, this makes
all the difference.
But the minutes passed, and still no grandfather. The nervousness which
he had with difficulty expelled began to return to Steve. This was
exactly like having to wait in the ring while one's opponent tried to
get one's goat by dawdling in the dressing room.
An attempt to relieve himself by punching the ball was a dismal
failure. At the first bang of the leather against the wood William
Bannister, who had been working in a pre-occupied way at the dying pig,
threw his head back and howled, and would not be comforted till Steve
took out the rope and skipped before him, much as dancers used to dance
before oriental monarchs in the old days.
Steve was just saying to himself for the fiftieth time that he was a
fool to have come, when Keggs arrived with the news that Mr. Bannister
was too busy to take his usual exercise this morning and that Steve was
at liberty to go.
It speaks well for Steve's character that he did not go. He would have
given much to retire, for the old man was one of the few people who
inspired in him anything resembling fear. But he could not return
tamely to the studio with his mission unaccomplished.
"Say, ask him if he can see me for a minute. Say it is important."
Keggs' eye rested on William Bannister, and he shook his head.
"I shouldn't, Mr. Dingle. Really I shouldn't. You don't know what an
ugly mood he's in. Something's been worrying him. It's what you might
call courting disaster."
"Gee! Do you think I want to do it? I've just got to. That's all
there is to it."
A few moments later Keggs returned with the news that Mr. Bannister
would see Dingle in the library.
"Come along, kid," said Steve. "Gimme hold of the excess baggage, and
let's get a move on."
So in the end it was Mr. Bannister who was discovered and Steve who
made the entrance. And, as Steve pointed out to Kirk later, it just
made all the difference.
The effect of the change on Steve was to make him almost rollicking in
his manner, as if he and Mr. Bannister were the nucleus of an Old Home
Week celebration or two old college chums meeting after long absence.
Nervousness, on the rare occasions when he suffered from it, generally
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."
As Keggs left the room Steve's pent-up nervousness exploded in a whirl
of words.
"Aw say, boss, quit yer kiddin'. You know this kid ain't anything to do
with me. Why, say, how would he be any relation of a roughneck like me?
Come off the roof, bo. You know well enough who he is. He's your
grandson. On the level."
Mr. Bannister looked at William, now engaged in running the wheelbarrow
up and down the room, emitting the while a curious sound, possibly to
encourage an imaginary horse. The inspection did not seem to excite him
or afford him any pleasure.