CHAPTER FOURMouse in the Attic
Mason had been working on his thick, light hair with a military brush. As he crossed the room he transferred the brush to his left hand, and flung out the right in a buoyant gesture of welcome.
“Hello, there, Gamadge!” He almost shouted it. “Glad to see you. You’re evidently the doctor my wife needed.”
Gamadge rose, smiled, and held out his own hand; but he stayed where he was. He had no sympathy with the race of griffons—it usually bit him. He allowed his fingers to be crushed again in Mason’s iron paw. “Hope I’ll be of use here,” he said.
“You’ve cheered Florence up—that’s all I ask. Excuse my appearance; I’m changing—had a ride.”
“You look fit.”
Mason looked very fit; he was solid and muscular, with no sign of superfluous fat. His white-yellow hair,
