“To eat Nesselrode pudding, sir.”

The broker started.  “Ah!” he exclaimed, and though he still frowned, he reflected his junior’s smile.  “Is there some one with her?”

“A young man.”

“Send them in, please.”

Masterson obeyed and managed to linger until his curiosity was both appeased and heightened by seeing Jewel run across the Turkish rug and completely submerge the stately gray head beneath the brim of her hat.

“Well, I’ll—­be—­everlastingly”—­thought Masterson, as he softly passed out and closed the door behind him.  “Even Achilles could get it in the heel, but I’ll swear I didn’t believe the old man had a joint in his armor.”

Zeke stood twisting his hat, and when his employer was allowed to come to the surface, he spoke respectfully:—­

“Mother said I was to bring word if you would like a late supper, sir.”

“Tell Mrs. Forbes that it will be only something light, if anything.  She need not prepare.”

Jewel danced to the door with her escort as he went.  “Good-by, Zeke,” she said gayly.  “Thank you for bringing me.”

“Good-by, Jewel,” he returned in subdued accents, and stumbling on the threshold, passed out with a furtive wave of his hat.

The child returned and jumped into a chair by the desk, reserved for the selected visitors who succeeded in invading this precinct.  “I suppose you aren’t quite through,” she said, fixing her host with a blissful gaze as he worked among a scattered pile of papers.

“Very nearly,” he returned.  He saw that she was near to bubbling over with ideas ready to pour out to him.  He knew, too, that she would wait his time.  It entertained him to watch her furtively as she gave herself to inspecting the furnishings of the room and the pictures on the wall, then looked down at the patent leather tips of her best shoes as they swung to and fro.  At last she began to look at him more and more wistfully, and to view the furnishings of the large desk.  It had a broad shelf at the top.

Suddenly Jewel caught sight of a picture standing there in a square frame, and an irrepressible “Oh!” escaped from her lips.

She pressed her hands together and Mr. Evringham saw a deeper rose in her cheeks.  He followed her eyes, and silently taking the picture from the desk placed it in her lap.  She clasped it eagerly.  It was a fine photograph of Essex Maid, her grandfather’s mare.

In a minute he spoke:—­

“Now I think I’m about through, Jewel,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

“Oh, grandpa, do these cost very much?”

“Why?  Do you want to have Star sit for his picture?”

“Yes, it would be nice to have a picture of Star, wouldn’t it!  I never thought of that.  I mean to ask mother if I can.”

The broker winced.

“What I was thinking of was, could I have a picture of Essex Maid to take with me to Chicago?”