The valet grinned understandingly.

"Of course, there's my nephew," David went on, a little note of pride in
his voice. "He's become engaged recently, and I notice he's bought some
clothes. But still I don't think even he will want anybody to hold his
trousers while he gets into them."

David chuckled over that for a long time after the valet had gone.

He was quite happy and contented. He spent all afternoon in a roller
chair, conversing affably with the man who pushed him, and now and
then when Lucy was out of sight getting out and stretching his legs. He
picked up lost children and lonely dogs, and tried his eye in a shooting
gallery, and had hard work keeping off the roller coasters and out of
the sea.

Then, one day, when he had been gone some time, he was astonished on
entering his hotel to find Harrison Miller sitting in the lobby. David
beamed with surprise and pleasure.

"You old humbug!" he said. "Off on a jaunt after all! And the contempt
of you when I was shipped here!"

Harrison Miller was constrained and uncomfortable. He had meant to see
Lucy first. She was a sensible woman, and she would know just what David
could stand, or could not. But David did not notice his constraint; took
him to his room, made him admire the ocean view, gave him a cigar, and
then sat down across from him, beaming and hospitable.