"My father is in the next room.

Do you want to kill him ?" At the same moment there came a stir from the room beyond, the tap-tap of a cane and shuffling steps across the polished parquet.

Dysart's grip relaxed, his hand fell away, and he made a ghastly grimace as a little old gentleman came half-trotting, half-shambling to the doorway.

He was small and dapper and pink-skinned under his wig; the pink was paint; his lips and eyes peered and simpered; from one bird-claw hand dangled a monocle.
Jack Dysart made a ghastly and supreme effort: "I was just saying to Duane, father, that all this financial agitation is bound to blow over by December--Duane Mallett, father!"-- as the old man raised his eye-glass and peeped up at the young fellow--"you know his father, Colonel Mallett." "Yes, to be sure, yes, to be sure!" piped the old beau.

"How-de-do! How-de-do-o-o! My son Jack and I motor every morning at this hour.