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Maxwell, W. B., 1866-1938

"The Devil's Garden"


"Good evening, Miss Veale," he said courteously as he entered the
office.
"Oh, you mustn't call her _Miss_ Veale. She's Norah--one of us, you
know." And as he spoke, Dale laid his hand on the back of Norah's neck
to prevent her from rising. "She's our _multum in parvo_--making
herself so useful to the wife and me that we can't think what we
should ever do without her. Bide where you are a moment, Norah."
Dale established his visitor on a chair that faced the rapidly waning
light, and addressed him again with increased deference.
"If you can spare a few minutes, there's a thing I'd like to speak to
you about, Mr. Bates."
"I can spare all the minutes between now and morning," said Mr. Bates
cordially, "if I can be of the least service to you, William."
As much now as in the beginning of the enterprise Bates held himself
at the younger man's disposal, indeed liked nothing better than to
give information and counsel whenever his prosperous successor was of
a mind to accept either.
"I won't keep you as long as that," said Dale, smiling; "but will you
give us the pleasure of your company at supper?"
"You're very kind, William, but I don't think I can."
"Do, Mr. Bates. The wife will be as pleased as me--as I.


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