Suddenly he reached out a trembling hand.

"You're a good boy, Piers," he said. "You may do any damn thing you
like."

Piers' eyes kindled in swift response. He gripped the extended
hand. "You're a brick, sir!" he said. "Look here! Come along to
the billiard-room and have a hundred up! It'll give you an
appetite for dinner."

He hoisted the old man out of his chair before he could begin to protest.
They stood together before the great fire, and Sir Beverley straightened
his stiff limbs. He was half a head taller than his grandson.

"What a fellow it is!" he said half laughing. "Why can't you sit still
and be quiet? Don't you want to read the paper? I've done with it."

"So have I," said Piers. He swept it up with one hand as he spoke and
tossed it recklessly on to the blaze. "Come along, sir! We haven't
much time."

"Now what did you do that for?" demanded Sir Beverley, pausing. "Do you
want to set the house on fire? What did you do it for, Piers?"

"Because I was a fool," said Piers with sudden, curious vehemence. "A
damn fool sir, if you want to know. But it's done now. Let it burn!"

The paper flared fiercely and crumbled to ashes. Sir Beverley suffered
himself to be drawn away.