He was a man of many parts. It was his chief relaxation to
look in at Broadway hotels while some big fight was in progress out
West to watch the ticker and assure himself that the man he had backed
with a portion of the loot which he had accumulated in the form of tips
was doing justice to his judgment, for in private Keggs was essentially
the sport.
It was this that so endeared Steve to him. A few years ago Keggs had
won considerable sums by backing Steve, and the latter was always given
to understand that, as far as the lower regions of it were concerned,
the house on Fifth Avenue was open to him at all hours.
To-day he greeted Steve with enthusiasm and suggested a cigar in the
pantry before the latter should proceed to his work.
"He ain't ready for you yet, Mr. Dingle. He's lookin' over some papers
in--for goodness' sake, who's this?"
He had caught sight of William Bannister, who having wriggled free of
Steve, was being made much of by the maids.
"The kid," said Steve briefly.
"Not----"
Steve nodded.
"Sure. His grandson."
Keggs' solemnity increased.
"You aren't going to take him upstairs with you?"
"Surest thing you know. That's why I brought him."
"Don't you do it, Mr. Dingle. 'E's in an awful temper this morning--he
gets worse and worse--he'll fire you as soon as look at you.
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