Part 15 (2/2)

Christopher rescued the corpse and heaped tearful threats of vengeance on the murderess, and then tore into Caesar's room to find sympathy and comfort. He tumbled in at the window with Sir Joshua in his arms, and flung himself on Caesar before he had observed the presence of a visitor--a stranger, too. He was a big, florid man, with a good-natured face and great square chin, and he was standing with his back to the fire, looking very much at home. He gave a slight start as Christopher tumbled in, and a queer little cynical smile dawned on his face as he watched the two.

”Hallo, Aymer, I didn't know you had----”

”Go and get ready for tea, Christopher,” interrupted Aymer peremptorily, ”and take out that animal. Don't you see I have a visitor?”

Christopher, who had just perceived the stranger, hardly disguised his lack of appreciation of so inopportune a caller, and went out to see what consolation could be got out of Vespasian. When he returned, tidy and clean, even to Vespasian's satisfaction, he found the two men talking hard and slipped quietly into his seat behind the little tea-table hoping to be un.o.bserved; but Caesar called him out of it.

”Peter,” he said, ”let me present my adopted son to you. Christopher, shake hands with Mr. Masters.”

The big man and the small boy looked at each other gravely, and then Christopher extended his hand. Aymer looked out of the window and apparently took no notice of them.

”How do you do, sir?”

”What's your name besides Christopher?” demanded the visitor. He had queer, light blue, piercing eyes that were curiously unexpressive and looked through one to the back of one's head, but, unlike Mr. Aston's kind, steady gaze, that invited one to open one's soul to it, the immediate impulse here was to pull down the blinds of one's individuality in hasty self-defence, and realise, even in doing it, that it was too late.

”Aston,” said Christopher, rather hastily, escaping to the tea-table.

Peter Masters looked from him to Aymer with the same queer smile.

”Good-looking boy, Aymer,” he said carelessly. ”You call him Aston?”

”We've given him our own name,” said Aymer steadily, ”because it saves complications and explanations.”

”A very wise precaution. What are you going to do with him eventually?”

”I hardly know yet. What were you saying about the strike?”

They fell to discussing a recent labour trouble in the Midlands, and Christopher gathered a hazy notion that their visitor employed vast numbers of men who were not particularly fond of him, and for whom he had not only no affection, but no sort of feeling whatever, except as instruments of his will.

Christopher was very glad he was not one of them; he felt rather hostile to the big, careless, opulent man who spoke to Aymer with a familiarity that Christopher resented and had already apparently forgotten his own small existence.

The forget was but apparent, however, for presently he turned sharply to the boy and asked him if he had ever been down a coal mine.

Christopher, putting control on his own hot curiosity to explore the subject, answered that he had not, and gave Mr. Masters his second cup of tea without any sugar to emphasise his own indifference to the questioner, who unfortunately never noticed the omission, but drank his tea with equal satisfaction.

”Ever been over an iron foundry?” persisted Mr. Masters, with the same scrutinising gaze.

Caesar was playing with his favourite long tortoise-sh.e.l.l paper-knife; he seemed unusually indifferent to Christopher's manners, nor did he intervene to save him from the string of sharp questions that ensued.

Christopher made effort to answer the questioner with ordinary politeness, but he was not communicative, and Mr. Masters presently leant back in his chair and laughed.

”Young man, you'll get on in the world,” he said approvingly, ”for you've learnt the great secret of keeping your own counsel. I prophesy you'll be a successful man some day.”

Christopher was not at all elated at the prospect. He was wondering why Aymer drank no tea, also wondering how long the visitor meant to stay. There seemed no sign of departing in him, so Christopher asked if he might go and bury the guinea-pig with Vespasian's help. Aymer nodded permission without speaking.

”A cute lad,” remarked Mr. Masters; ”what are you going to do with him?”

”I do not know yet.”

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