CHAPTER XII

On Friday at three o’clock Phillip strode through the crowd of bundle-laden men and women in front of the waiting-room in the square and, stationing himself on the curbstone under John’s front window, gazed upward and yelled lustily until John stuck his head out and said: “Shut up or you’ll wake Davy. Come on up.” So Phillip climbed the stairs—something he might have done in the first place had it not been contrary to established custom—and found David snoring in an armchair with a lap full of books and John sortin…