"Why, Breen!--why, my dear boy!--And you have a holiday, too? How
did you know I was home?" cried Peter, extending both hands in the
joy of his greeting.
"I stopped at the Bank, sir."
"Did you?--and who told you?"
"The janitor, I suppose."
"Oh, the good Patrick! Well, well! Holker, you remember young
Breen."
Holker did remember, for a wonder, and extended one hand to prove
it, and Felicia--but the boy was already bending over her, all his
respect and admiration in his eyes. The little chub of a man was
now on his feet, standing in an attentive attitude, ready to take
his cue from Peter.
"And now, my boy, turn this way, and let me introduce you to my
very dear friend, Mr. Isaac Cohen."
A pudgy hand was thrust out and the spectacled little man, his
eyes on the boy, said he was glad to know any friend of Mr.
Grayson, and resuming his seat continued his conversation in still
lower tones with the great architect.
Jack stood irresolute for an instant, not knowing whether to make
some excuse for his evidently inopportune visit and return later,
or to keep his seat until the others had gone.
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