"Well I should think so--about ninety-nine and nine-tenths
percent," replied the older man emphatically. "Let's invite him to
dinner, Jack. Maybe he'll come to one I'm giving next week and--"
"I'll ask him--that is ... perhaps, though, you might write him a
note, uncle, and--"
"Of course," interrupted Breen, ignoring the suggestion, "when I
wanted you to take him to the club I didn't know who he was."
"Of course you did not," echoed Jack, suppressing a smile.
"The club! No, not by a damned sight!" exclaimed the head of the
house of Breen. As this latter observation was addressed to the
circumambient air, and not immediately to Jack, it elicited no
response. Although slightly profane, Jack was clever enough to
read in its tones not only ample apology for previous criticisms
but a sort of prospective reparation, whereupon our generous young
gentleman forgave his uncle at once, and thought that from this on
he might like him the better.
Even Parkins came in for a share of Jack's most gracious
intentions, and though he was as silent as an automaton playing a
game of chess, a slight crack was visible in the veneer of his
face when Jack thanked him for having brought Mr.
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