I landed at the private pier of
Howard Forrester, the only brother of Anita's mother. As I stepped upon the
pier I saw a fine-looking old man in the pavilion overhanging the water. He
was dressed all in white except a sky-blue tie that harmonized with the
color of his eyes. He was neither fat nor lean, and his smooth skirt was
protesting ruddily against the age proclaimed by his wool-white hair. He
rose as I came toward him, and, while I was still several yards away,
showed unmistakably that he knew who I was and that he was anything but
glad to see me.
"Mr. Forrester?" I asked
He grew purple to the line of his thick white hair. "It is, Mr. Blacklock,"
said he. "I have the honor to wish you good day, sir." And with that he
turned his back on me and gazed out toward Long Island.
"I have come to ask a favor of you, sir," said I, as polite to that hostile
back as if I had been addressing a cordial face. And I waited.
He wheeled round, looked at me from head to foot. I withstood the
inspection calmly; when it was ended I noted that in spite of himself he
was somewhat relaxed from the opinion of me he had formed upon what he had
heard and read. But he said: "I do not know you, sir, and I do not wish to
know you.
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