"
"You don't send any across the Atlantic yet?" queried
Hesketh jocularly.
"Not yet. No, sir!"
Then did Mr Hesketh show himself in true sympathy with
the novel and independent conditions of the commonwealth
he found himself in.
"I beg you won't use that form with me," he said, "I know
it isn't the custom of the country, and I am a friend of
your son's, you see."
The iron merchant looked at him, just an instant's regard,
in which astonishment struggled with the usual deliberation.
Then his considering hand went to his chin.
"I see. I must remember," he said.
The son, Lorne, glanced in the pause beyond John Murchison's
broad shoulders, through the store door and out into the
moderate commerce of Main Street, which had carried the
significance and the success of his father's life. His
eye came back and moved over the contents of the place,
taking stock of it, one might say, and adjusting the
balance with pride. He had said very little since they
had been in the store. Now he turned to Hesketh quietly.
"I wouldn't bother about that if I were you," he said.
"My father spoke quite--colloquially."
"Oh!" said Hesketh.
They parted on the pavement outside. "I hope you
understand," said Lorne, with an effort at heartiness,
"how glad my parents will be to have you if you find
yourself able to spare us any of your time?"
"Thanks very much," said Hesketh; "I shall certainly give
myself the pleasure of calling as soon as possible.
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