CHAPTER XXII
THE SCRUB DISBANDS
Neither Clif nor Tom had more than a
glimpse of Loring until late Sunday afternoon.
Then Wattles found them both in
Tom's room and announced that Loring would like to
see them in front of East Hall.
"Have his folks gone, Wattles?" asked Tom.
"No, sir, not yet. I think Mister Loring wishes you to meet them, sir."
Tom exchanged glances with Clif and then grabbed his brushes and smoothed his hair into place. "We'll be right down, Wattles," he said. Wattles departed and Clif seized the brushes that Tom had abandoned in favor of a whisk. Finally, a trifle awed, they set forth. But neither Mr. Deane nor Mrs. Deane proved formidable. Loring's father was a tall, rather thin gentleman with a closely cropped gray mustache and pink cheeks, who looked more like an army man than the popular conception of a multimillionaire. He had a way of half closing his eyes when he smiled that was most engaging. Loring looked more like his mother, who, as Tom enthusiastically confided to Clif later, was "a pippin." They were still in the handsome big car that had aroused Clif's admiration several weeks
