Last night, he’d told his family stories about the times he and John Master used to spend together. He’d had a few drinks during the evening. He may have boasted a little. His children had always known there had once been a friendship, but it had never seemed to amount to much, and their father seldom spoke of it. Hearing him that evening, therefore, they’d been a bit surprised, and quite impressed.

His wife was less impressed. Mrs. White was a plump, comfortable woman. She loved Charlie, but after years of marriage, she knew his weaknesses. His carting business had never been as good as her father’s had been. He didn’t always concentrate on the work in hand. She was afraid that he was going to be disappointed with this encounter, and she certainly didn’t want their children getting any foolish ideas. Years of marriage to Charlie had left her skeptical.

“So you had a few drinks with John Master, and invited his son round.”

“Wasn’t my idea,” said Charlie. “It was his.”

“When he was drunk.”

“I’ve seen him drunk. He wasn’t drunk.”

“You think rich young Master’s going to show up?”

“I know he is. His father told me.”

“Well, maybe he will, and maybe he won’t,” said his wife. “But I’ll tell you one thing, Charlie. John Master wants something. I don’t know what he wants, but when he’s got it, he’ll forget about you again, just like he did before.”

“You don’t understand,” said Charlie. “He’s my friend.”

His children were all looking at him. His wife said nothing.

“You’ll see,” Charlie said.

So now Charlie and Sam waited. The street was busy. Once in a while, a respectable person came by, but no sign of young James Master. A quarter of an hour passed. Sam glanced at his father.

“He’ll come,” said Charlie.

Another quarter-hour passed.

At one o’clock, Charlie said to his son: “You can go in now, Sam.”

But he himself remained, for a long time, staring up the street.

At six o’clock that evening, James Master walked toward his home, and hoped his father was not there. He was still working out what he was going to say.

He’d meant to go to Charlie White’s house. In a way, when you came to think of it, he’d almost done so. At least he’d set out for the place in good time. But something had held him back. He hadn’t really wanted to meet Sam White. Not that he looked down on poor people. It wasn’t that. But if only his father wouldn’t make all these arrangements for him.