"We had arrived one Sunday morning in a small town, and were trailing
wearily down the street just as the people were going to morning service.
Suddenly, as I was passing a large church, I saw my father alight from the
carriage at the door. I found out afterwards that he had come to conduct a
special service. He was so near that I could have touched him, but I just
stood, rooted to the spot, so beastly ashamed you know, with my shabby
travelling bag behind me, and my heart pounding away like Billy-ho!"
"Oh, I wish he'd seen you!" I cried, "he'd have made it up like a shot."
Harry blew a great cloud of smoke. "Well, I want to sneak back to him,
John--but--here's the rub--_perhaps Margery does not want me_." He sucked
gloomily at his pipe for a bit in silence, then taking it from his mouth he
stabbed at me with the stem of it.
"This is where you come in my friend. You'd like to help, wouldn't you?"