of papers. Harold became a trifle calmer as he began to realize that the man at the desk was almost certainly as much perturbed and embarrassed as he himself had been. Presently, after a few more seconds of silence, during which the boy stood perfectly still, the elder man (a much older man than Harold had expected to see) rose and leaned over the desk to shake hands with his son.
How do you do? were his first words and his voice sounded suspiciously choked.
Harold echoed this polite cliche.
George Prewett pointed to a chair and then, seemingly entirely overcome by the meeting, by the first words, and by his thoughts of past and future, sank back into his seat and again appeared to busy himself with the pile of papers on his desk.
Completely confident by now that his father was certainly more terrified than he had been at any stage of this strange game, Harold grew steadily cooler. He stared at the rows of books in shelves against the walls, at the steel-engravings above the shelves, at the curtained alcoves framing the windows, and then he ventured to look back at this eccentric figure who seemed to be ostentatiously pretending to be unaware of his presence, a stout, half-bald, rapidly aging man, who wore eye-glasses framed in tortoise-shell, and a suit of purple mohair.
This scene in the comedy was now abruptly terminated. The elder man spoke again.
