“Of course,” he said, “you know me already as Lance’s father. I don’t know whether you happen to have heard of me beyond that?” Anne admitted nothing, and as it was to her he spoke, it did not matter that Tom, who had naturally spent a gossipy afternoon, was trying to signify that he realized the importance of Travers. “I’m an estate agent, if you understand what that means.” Anne nodded grimly. “Rent-collector said big,” she defined. “Well,” said Travers, intending to suggest an amended definition and then thinking better of it. “Well, yes. I’m in the Council, too, you know. Well, now, Mrs. Branstone, I happen to be a widower and Lance is my only son. He means a great deal to me, and when I think how near I came to losing him this afternoon, how certainly I had lost him hut for the splendid presence of mind of this young hero here, I feel I owe a debt which I can never hope to pay.” “Mr. Travers,” said Anne, “least said is soonest mended, and debts that you can never hope to pay are best forgotten. It’s a kindly thought of yours to come and look us up to-night, but I’m not in the Council, and I’m no great hand at listening to long speeches. By your leave, we’ll take the rest as said.” “By all means, Mrs. Branstone, so far as expressing my thanks goes. But I have a suggestion to make. Lance, as I said, is my only son. He’s a lonely boy, and he’d be the better for a companion of his own age about the house. I was wondering if you would allow Sam to come and live with us? I should send him with Lance to the Grammar School, and I think I can promise that his future will be secured.” Sam’s heart gave a great leap. He, Sam Bran-stone, a Grammar School boy, one of the elect, the Olympians whose play he had envied from afar! He looked at Anne with glittering eyes, faint with hope. “Sam,” she said, “Mr. Travers wants you to leave us. He’s offering to adopt you as his son. Tell him the answer.”