A Matter of Interest | Page 6

he drew a sigh of
satisfaction. "You see," he said, turning to me, "I was at my wit's end to
know whom to trust. I never thought of you. Jack's out in China, and I
didn't dare trust anybody in my own profession. All you care about is
writing verses and stories, isn't it?"
"I like to shoot," I replied mildly.
"Just the thing!" he cried, beaming at us all in turn. "Now I can see no
reason why we should not progress rapidly. McPeek, you and Frisby
must get those boxes up here before dark. Dinner will be ready before
you have finished unloading. Dick, you will wish to go to your room
first."
My name isn't Dick, but he spoke so kindly, and beamed upon me in
such a fatherly manner, that I let it go. I had occasion to correct him
afterward, several times, but he always forgot the next minute. He calls
me Dick to this day.
It was dark when Professor Holroyd, his daughter, and I sat down to
dinner. The room was the same in which I had noticed the drawings of
beast and bird, but the round table had been extended into an oval, and
neatly spread with dainty linen and silver.
A fresh-cheeked Swedish girl appeared from a further room, bearing
the soup. The professor ladled it out, still beaming.
"Now, this is very delightful!--isn't it, Daisy?" he said.
"Very," said Miss Holroyd, with the faintest tinge of irony.
"Very," I repeated heartily; but I looked at my soup when I said it.
"I suppose," said the professor, nodding mysteriously at his daughter,
"that Dick knows nothing of what we're about down here?"
"I suppose," said Miss Holroyd, "that he thinks we are digging for
fossils."

I looked at my plate. She might have spared me that.
"Well, well," said her father, smiling to himself, "he shall know
everything by morning. You'll be astonished, Dick, my boy."
"His name isn't Dick," corrected Daisy.
The professor said, "Isn't it?" in an absentminded way, and relapsed
into contemplation of my necktie.
I asked Miss Holroyd a few questions about Jack, and was informed
that he had given up law and entered the diplomatic service--as what, I
did not dare ask, for I know what our diplomatic service is.
"In China," said Daisy.
"Choo Choo is the name of the city," added her father proudly; "it's the
terminus of the new trans-Siberian railway."
"It's on the Yellow River," said Daisy.
"He's vice-consul," added the professor triumphantly.
"He'll make a good one," I observed. I knew Jack. I pitied his consul.
So we chatted on about my old playmate, until Freda, the red-checked
maid, brought coffee, and the professor lighted a cigar, with a little bow
to his daughter.
"Of course, you don't smoke," she said to me, with a glimmer of malice
in her eyes.
"He mustn't," interposed the professor hastily; "it will make his hand
tremble."
"No, it doesn't," said I, laughing; "but my hand will shake if I don't
smoke. Are you going to employ me as a draughtsman?"
"You'll know to-morrow," he chuckled, with a mysterious smile at his

daughter.--"Daisy, give him my best cigars; put the box here on the
table. We can't afford to have his hand tremble."
Miss Holroyd rose, and crossed the hallway to her father's room,
returning presently with a box of promising-looking cigars.
"I don't think he knows what is good for him," she said. "He should
smoke only one every day."
It was hard to bear. I am not vindictive, but I decided to treasure up a
few of Miss Holroyd's gentle taunts. My intimacy with her brother was
certainly a disadvantage to me now. Jack had apparently been talking
too much, and his sister appeared to be thoroughly acquainted with my
past. It was a disadvantage. I remembered her vaguely as a girl with
long braids, who used to come on Sundays with her father and take tea
with us in our rooms. Then she went to Germany to school, and Jack
and I employed our Sunday evenings otherwise. II is true that I
regarded her weekly visits as a species of infliction, but I did not think I
ever showed it.
"It is strange," said I, "that you did not recognise me at once, Miss
Holroyd. Have I changed so greatly in live years?"
"You wore a pointed French beard in Paris," she said--"a very downy
one. And you never stayed to tea but twice, and then you only spoke
once."
"Oh!" said I blankly. "What did I say?"
"You asked me if I liked plums," said Daisy, bursting into an
irresistible ripple of laughter.
I saw that I must have made the same sort of an ass of myself that most
boys of eighteen