“Thank you.”

He lowered himself to the ground, and moved in the bluish darkness towards the gate of his daughter’s house.  Bob Pillin walked beside him, thinking:  ‘Poor old josser, he is gettin’ a back number!’ And he said:  “I should have thought you ought to drive, sir.  My old guv’nor would knock up at once if he went about at night like this.”

The answer rumbled out into the misty air: 

“Your father’s got no chest; never had.”

Bob Pillin gave vent to one of those fat cackles which come so readily from a certain type of man; and old Heythorp thought: 

‘Laughing at his father!  Parrot!’

They had reached the porch.

A woman with dark hair and a thin, straight face and figure was arranging some flowers in the hall.  She turned and said: 

“You really ought not to be so late, Father!  It’s wicked at this time of year.  Who is it—­oh!  Mr. Pillin, how do you do?  Have you had tea?  Won’t you come to the drawing-room; or do you want to see my father?”

“Tha-anks!  I believe your father—­” And he thought:  ’By Jove! the old chap is a caution!’ For old Heythorp was crossing the hall without having paid the faintest attention to his daughter.  Murmuring again: 

“Tha-anks awfully; he wants to give me something,” he followed.  Miss Heythorp was not his style at all; he had a kind of dread of that thin woman who looked as if she could never be unbuttoned.  They said she was a great churchgoer and all that sort of thing.

In his sanctum old Heythorp had moved to his writing-table, and was evidently anxious to sit down.

“Shall I give you a hand, sir?”

Receiving a shake of the head, Bob Pillin stood by the fire and watched.  The old “sport” liked to paddle his own canoe.  Fancy having to lower yourself into a chair like that!  When an old Johnny got to such a state it was really a mercy when he snuffed out, and made way for younger men.  How his Companies could go on putting up with such a fossil for chairman was a marvel!  The fossil rumbled and said in that almost inaudible voice: 

“I suppose you’re beginning to look forward to your father’s shoes?”

Bob Pillin’s mouth opened.  The voice went on: 

“Dibs and no responsibility.  Tell him from me to drink port—­add five years to his life.”

To this unwarranted attack Bob Pillin made no answer save a laugh; he perceived that a manservant had entered the room.

“A Mrs. Larne, sir.  Will you see her?”

At this announcement the old man seemed to try and start; then he nodded, and held out the note he had written.  Bob Pillin received it together with the impression of a murmur which sounded like:  “Scratch a poll, Poll!” and passing the fine figure of a woman in a fur coat, who seemed to warm the air as she went by, he was in the hall again before he perceived that he had left his hat.