Just as he heard that ponderous step on the veranda, he took a third--
[Illustration: Samuel slid into a chair near the door.] but only to
throw it, too, still smouldering, into the empty fireplace.
Dr. Lavendar came in first. His face was very grave; he made no
conventional pretence of ease. Behind him, in the doorway, loomed the
other figure. Out in the hall, Simmons, his bent old back flattened
against the wall, his jaw chattering with amazement, stood, clutching
at the door-knob and staring after the visitors.
"Come in!" said, Benjamin Wright. "Hello, Lavendar. Hello--"
Alas! at that moment Samuel's cracked and patched-up self-respect
suddenly crumbled;--his presence of mind deserted him, and scrambling
like an embarrassed boy into a marked discourtesy, he thrust both
hands into his pockets. Instantly he realized his self-betrayal, but
it was too late; his father, after a second's hesitation, occupied
both his hands with the decanter and cigar-box.
"Well; here we are, Benjamin!" said Dr. Lavendar.
"Take a cigar," said the very old man; he held the box out, and it
shook so that the loose cigars jarred within it. Dr. Lavendar helped
himself. "Have one--" Benjamin Wright said, and thrust the box at the
silent standing figure.
"I--do not smoke." Samuel slid into a seat near the door, and
balancing his hat carefully on his knees twisted one leg about the leg
of his chair.
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