“Glad you liked it. Come on now and let’s eat. I had dinner at six, but can dally with a little supper. I’m afraid, though,” he added as he locked the doors, “I can’t give you fellows anything hot except coffee.”
“Hot or cold, it’s all the same to us,” said Roy.
Mr. Whiting unlocked the front door and admitted them to a wide hall and from there conducted them into a big library and flooded it with light at the touch of a button.
“Make yourselves at home now. If you want to wash come on up-stairs. You needn’t be afraid of making a noise, the place is empty except for Williams and he’s at the back of the house and wouldn’t hear a sound if he wasn’t.”
They trooped up after him to the bath-room and washed the dust from hands and faces. Chub, smoothing his hair with the silver-backed brushes which their host provided, encountered in the glass the gaze of Whiting fixed on him speculatively.
“Say, what’s your name?” asked Whiting.
“My name’s Eaton,” answered Chub. “And
