Despite his stiffly collected bearing, Mr.Palford looked perhaps slightly nervous when he was handed into the bed-sitting-room, and found himself confronting Hutchinson and Little Ann and the table set for the oyster stew.It is true that he had never been in such a place in his life, that for many reasons he was appalled, and that he was beset by a fear that he might be grotesquely compelled by existing circumstances to accept these people's invitation, if they insisted upon his sitting down with them and sharing their oyster stew.One could not calculate on what would happen among these unknown quantities.It might be their idea of boarding-house politeness.And how could one offend them? God forbid that the situation should intensify itself in such an absurdly trying manner! What a bounder the unfortunate young man was! His own experience had not been such as to assist him to any realistic enlightenment regarding him, even when he had seen the society page and had learned that he had charge of it.
"Let me make you acquainted with Mr.and Miss Hutchinson," Tembarom introduced."This is Mr.Palford, Mr.Hutchinson."Hutchinson, half hidden behind his newspaper, jerked his head and grunted:
"Glad to see you, sir."
Mr.Palford bowed, and took the chair Tembarom presented.
"I am much obliged to you, Mr.Hutchinson, for allowing me to come to your room.I have business to discuss with Mr.Tembarom, and the pianola was being played down-stairs--rather loudly.""They do it every night, dang 'em! Right under my bed," growled Hutchinson."You're an Englishman, aren't you?""Yes."
"So am I, thank God! " Hutchinson devoutly gave forth.
Little Ann rose from her chair, sewing in hand.
"Father'll come and sit with me in my room," she said.
Hutchinson looked grumpy.He did not intend to leave the field clear and the stew to its fate if he could help it.He gave Ann a protesting frown.
"I dare say Mr.Palford doesn't mind us," he said."We're not strangers.""Not in the least," Palford protested."Certainly not.If you are old friends, you may be able to assist us.""Well, I don't know about that," Hutchinson answered, "We've not known him long, but we know him pretty well.You come from London, don't you? ""Yes.From Lincoln's Inn Fields."
"Law?" grunted Hutchinson.
"Yes.Of the firm of Palford & Grimby."
Hutchinson moved in his chair involuntarily.There was stimulation to curiosity in this.This chap was a regular top sawyer--clothes, way of pronouncing his words, manners, everything.No mistaking him--old family solicitor sort of chap.What on earth could he have to say to Tembarom? Tembarom himself had sat down and could not be said to look at his ease.
"I do not intrude without the excuse of serious business," Palford explained to him."A great deal of careful research and inquiry has finally led me here.I am compelled to believe I have followed the right clue, but I must ask you a few questions.Your name is not really Tembarom, is it?"Hutchinson looked at Tembarom sharply.
"Not Tembarom? What does he mean, lad?"
Tembarom's grin was at once boyish and ashamed.
"Well, it is in one way," he answered, "and it isn't in another.The fellows at school got into the way of calling me that way,--to save time, I guess,--and I got to like it.They'd have guyed my real name.
Most of them never knew it.I can't see why any one ever called a child by such a fool name, anyhow.""What was it exactly?"
Tembarom looked almost sheepish.
"It sounds like a thing in a novel.It was Temple Temple Barholm.Two Temples, by gee! As if one wasn't enough!"Joseph Hutchinson dropped his paper and almost started from his chair.
His red face suddenly became so much redder that he looked a trifle apoplectic.
"Temple Barholm does tha say?" he cried out.
Mr.Palford raised his hand and checked him, but with a suggestion of stiff apology.
"If you will kindly allow me.Did you ever hear your father refer to a place called Temple Barholm?" he inquired.
Tembarom reflected as though sending his thoughts backward into a pretty thoroughly forgotten and ignored past.There had been no reason connected with filial affection which should have caused him to recall memories of his father.They had not liked each other.He had known that he had been resented and looked down upon as a characteristically American product.His father had more than once said he was a "common American lad," and he had known he was.
"Seems to me," he said at last, "that once when he was pretty mad at his luck I heard him grumbling about English laws, and he said some of his distant relations were swell people who would never think of speaking to him,--perhaps didn't know he was alive,--and they lived in a big way in a place that was named after the family.He never saw it or them, and he said that was the way in England--one fellow got everything and the rest were paupers like himself.He'd always been poor.""Yes, the relation was a distant one.Until this investigation began the family knew nothing of him.The inquiry has been a tiresome one.Itrust I am reaching the end of it.We have given nearly two years to following this clue.""What for?" burst forth Tembarom, sitting upright.
"Because it was necessary to find either George Temple Barholm or his son, if he had one.""I'm his son, all right, but he died when I was eight years old,"Tembarom volunteered."I don't remember much about him.""You remember that he was not an American?"
"He was English.Hated it; but he wasn't fond of America.""Have you any papers belonging to him?"
Tembarom hesitated again.
"There's a few old letters--oh, and one of those glass photographs in a case.I believe it's my grandfather and grandmother, taken when they were married.Him on a chair, you know, and her standing with her hand on his shoulder.""Can you show them to me?" Palford suggested.