They did not hear the door open behind them, did not hear the click of high bootheels on the floor, as there came toward them an unbidden spectator, who had by some slack servant been directed thither.
The door did open.

In it stood Tom Osby, unannounced.

He was dressed in his best, which was not quite so picturesque as his worst, but which did not disguise him nor the region which was his home.

His boots were new, sharp at toe and heel.

His hat, now removed, was new, but wide and white.