I must remember," he said.
The son, Lorne, glanced in the pause beyond John Murchison's broad shoulders, through the store door and out into the moderate commerce of Main Street, which had carried the significance and the success of his father's life.

His eye came back and moved over the contents of the place, taking stock of it, one might say, and adjusting the balance with pride.

He had said very little since they had been in the store.

Now he turned to Hesketh quietly.
"I wouldn't bother about that if I were you," he said.

"My father spoke quite--colloquially." "Oh!" said Hesketh.
They parted on the pavement outside.