Is that all clear?"
"Clear as a bell. I'm off!" said Archibald.
"Archie's a good sort, but he does hate to let a dollar get by him."
The artist laughed indulgently. "I say, Thompson, did you see how he
stuck on letting you have a whack at it?"
"Where do you bank?" inquired Mitchell. Steve told him where his money
was deposited. Mitchell shook his head. "I was hoping we would go the
same way, but I go uptown."
Ten minutes after they left the industrious bookkeeper returned
with navvies and draymen, and removed the office furniture to parts
unknown.
* * * * *
When the four financiers got together in Mitchell's room Steve
proposed to continue his lessons in the fascinating game of bridge.
He drank freely and his game was the apotheosis of bumble-puppy.
Archibald, his partner, was much irritated by his stupidity.
A bellboy came to the door. A gentleman in the parlor would like to
see Mr. Thompson.
Mr. Thompson looked at the card. "Mr. A.W. Wyatt," he announced
sneeringly. "You can tell Mr. A.W. Wyatt, if he wants to see me, he
can just naturally mosey himself up here."
"Not _the_ A.W. Wyatt--Anson Walworth Wyatt?" asked Loring. "I know
him--I mean, I know him by sight."
"I believe it is," said Steve with surly indifference.
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