Also you may be able to account in a measure for Mr. J. Bramble's attitude toward the tall young man, an attitude brought on no doubt by the revival, or more properly speaking the survival, of an authority exercised with rare futility but great satisfaction at a time when Eric was being trained in the way he should go. If at times Mr. Bramble appears to be mildly dictatorial, or gently critical, or sadly reproachful, you will understand that it is habit with him, and not the captiousness of old age. It was his custom to shake his head reprovingly, or to frown in a pained sort of way, or to purse his lips, or even to verbally take Mr. Trotter to task when that young man deviated,--not always accidentally,--from certain rules of deportment laid down for him to follow in his earliest efforts to be a "little gentleman." For example, when the two of them, after a rather impatient half-hour, observed Miss Emsdale step down from the trolley car at the corner above and head for the doorway through which they were peering, Mr. Bramble peremptorily said to Mr. Trotter: "Go and brush your hair. You will find a brush at the back of the shop. Look sharp, now. She will be here in a jiffy." And you will perhaps understand why Mr. Trotter paid absolutely no attention to him. Miss Emsdale and the little violinist came in together. The latter's teeth were chattering, his cheeks were blue with the cold. "God bless my soul!" said Mr. Bramble, blinking at de Bosky. Here was an unforeseen complication. Miss Emsdale was resourceful. "I stopped in to inquire, Mr. Bramble,--this is Mr. Bramble, isn't it?--if you have a copy of--" "Please close the door, Trotter, there's a good fellow," interrupted Mr. Bramble, frowning significantly at the young man. "It is closed," said Mr. Trotter, tactlessly. He was looking intently, inquiringly into the blue eyes of Miss Emsdale. "I closed it as I came in," chattered de Bosky. "Oh, did you?" said Mr. Bramble. "People always leave it open. I am so in the habit of having people leave the door open that I never notice when they close it. I--ahem! Step right this way, please, Miss Ems--ahem! I think we have just the book you want." "I am not in any haste, Mr. Bramble," said she, regarding de Bosky with pitying eyes. "Let us all go back to the stove and--and--" She hesitated, biting her lip. The poor chap undoubtedly was sensitive. They always are. "Good!" said Mr. Bramble eagerly. "And we'll have some tea. Bless my soul, how fortunate! I always have it at five o'clock. Trotter and I were just on the point of--so glad you happened in just at the right moment, Miss Emsdale. Ahem! And you too, de Bosky. Most extraordinary. You may leave your pipe on that shelf, Trotter. It smells dreadfully. No, no,--I wouldn't even put it in my pocket if I were you. Er--ahem! You have met Mr. Trotter, haven't you, Miss Emsdale?"