Grayson."
"Stop your nonsense, Jack--" Peter called him so now--"You come
back for Sunday." These days with the boy were the pleasantest of
his life.
"Well, I would love to--" Here his eyes sought, Ruth--"but we have
an important blast to make, and we are doing our best to get
things into shape before the week is out."
"Well, but suppose it isn't ready?" demanded Peter.
"But it will be," answered Jack in a more positive tone; this part
of the work was in his hands.
"Well, anyhow, send me a telegram."
"I will send it, sir, but I am afraid it won't help matters. Miss
Ruth knows how delighted I would be to return here and see her
safe home."
"Whether she does or whether she doesn't," broke in Miss Felicia,
"hasn't got a single thing to do with it, Peter. You just go back
to your work, Mr. Breen, and look after your gunpowder plots, or
whatever you call them, and if some one of these gentlemen of
elegant leisure--not one of whom so far has offered his services--
cannot manage to escort you to your father's house, Ruth, I will
take you myself.
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