Chapter 2
“Mitz!... Mitz!...”
“Sonny?...”
“What’s Uncle Dean got?”
“I dunno.”
“Is he ill?”
“Not a bit! But if the thing goes on, he will be, and sure.”
These questions and answers were exchanged between a young man twenty-three years of age and a woman of sixty-five, in the dining-room of a house in Elizabeth Street, situated in the same town of Whaston where the marriage related in the preceding chapter had recently been performed.
This Elizabeth Street house belonged to Mr. Dean Forsyth, a gentleman of forty-five, who looked his age. He had a big head with a thick touzle of hair, small eyes protected by high-power spectacles, stooping shoulders, a puissant neck, enwrapped in all seasons with two folds of necktie reaching up to his chin; he wore a loose, crumpled frock-coat, a sle
