"It's about Dick."
"Dick!"
"Yes, Dick--and the bank!"
"Oh-h!" he groaned, and, in his knowledge of his own world, he knew it all.
XXV
"Ah, Mr. Ward, ah! Heh! Won't you sit down, sir, won't you sit down?"
Hunter had risen from his low hollow chair, and now stood bowing, or rather stooping automatically to a posture lower than was customary with him. The day before or that afternoon, Ward would have noticed Hunter's advancing senility. The old banker stood bent before his deep, well-worn green chair, its bottom sagging almost to the floor. He had on large, loose slippers and a long faded gown. The light glistened on his head, entirely bald, and fell in bright patches on the lean, yellow face that was wrinkled in a smile,--but a smile that expressed nothing, not even mirth. He stood there, uncertainly, almost apologetically, making some strange noise in his throat like a chuckle, or like a cough.
His tongue moved restlessly along his thin lips. In his left hand he held a cigar, stuck on a toothpick.
"Won't you sit down, Mr. Ward, won't you sit down, sir?"
The old banker, after striving for this effect of hospitality, lowered himself carefully into his own deep chair. Ward seated himself across the hearth, and looked at the shabby figure, huddled in its shabby chair, in the midst of all the richness and luxury of that imposing library. About the walls were magnificent bookcases in mahogany, and behind their little leaded panes of glass were rows of morocco bindings.
On the walls were paintings, and all about, in the furniture, the rugs, the bric-a-brac, was the display of wealth that had learned to refine itself. And yet, in the whole room nothing expressed the character of that aged and withered man, save the shabby green chair he sat in, the shabby gown and slippers he wore, and the economical toothpick to make his cigar last longer. Ward remembered to have heard Elizabeth and her mother--in some far removed and happy day before this thing had come upon him--speak of the difficulty Mrs. Hunter and Agnes Hunter had with the old man; he must have been intractable, he had resisted to the end and evidently come off victorious, for here he sat with the trophies of his victory, determined to have his own way. And yet Ward, who was not given to speculations of the mental kind, did not think of these things.
At another time Hunter might have impressed him sadly as an old man; but not now; this night he was feeling very old himself.
"I presume, Mr. Hunter," Ward began, "that you imagined the object of my visit when I telephoned you an hour ago."
"Oh, yes, sir, yes, Mr. Ward. You came to see me about that boy of yours!"
"Exactly," said Ward, and he felt his cheek flush.
"Bad boy, that, Mr. Ward," said Hunter in his squeaking voice, grinning toothlessly.
"We needn't discuss that," said Ward, lifting his hand. "The situation is already sufficiently embarrassing. I came to talk the matter over as a simple business proposition."
"Yes?" squeaked Hunter with a rising inflection.
"What does the shortage amount to?" Ward leaned toward him.
"In round numbers?"
"No," Ward was abrupt. "In dollars and cents."
Hunter pursed his lips. Ward's last words seemed to stimulate his thought.
"Let us see," he said, "let us see. If I remember rightly"--and Ward knew that he remembered it to the last decimal point--"it amounts to twenty-four thousand, six hundred and seventy-eight dollars and twenty-nine cents."
Ward made no reply; he was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, gazing into the fire. He did not move, and yet he knew that the old banker was shrewdly eying him.
"That, of course," said Hunter with the effect of an afterthought, "is the principal sum. The interest--"
"Yes, that's all right," said Ward. Hunter's last words, which at any other time would have infuriated him, in this instance made him happy; they reassured him, gave him hope. He knew now that the old banker was ready to compromise. Then suddenly he remembered that he had not smoked that evening, and he drew his cigar-case from his pocket.
"Do you mind, sir, if I smoke?"
"Not in the least, Mr. Ward, not in the least, sir; delighted to have you. Make yourself perfectly at home, sir."
He waved his long, thin, transparent hand grandly and hospitably at Ward, and smiled his toothless smile.
"Perhaps you'd smoke, Mr. Hunter."
Ward proffered him the case and reflected instantly with delight that the cigar was a large, strong Havana, rich and heavy, much heavier than the old man was accustomed to, for from its odor Ward knew that the cigar Hunter was consuming to the last whiff was of cheap domestic tobacco, if it was of tobacco at all.
"Thank you, sir," said Hunter, delighted, leaning out of his chair and selecting a cigar with care. "I usually limit myself to one cigar of an evening--but with you--"
"Yes," thought Ward, "I know why you limit yourself to one, and I hope this one will make you sick."
When Ward had smoked a moment, he said:
"Mr. Hunter, if I reimburse you, what assurance can I have that there will be no prosecution?"
"Heh, heh." The old man made that queer noise in his throat again.
"Heh, heh. Well, Mr. Ward, you know you are already on your son's bond."
"For ten thousand, yes--not for twenty-four."
"Quite right!" said Hunter, taken somewhat aback. Then they were silent.
"What assurance can you give me, Mr. Hunter?" He took the cigar from his lips and looked directly at Hunter.
"Well, I'm afraid, Mr. Ward, that that has passed out of my hands. You see--"
"You told Eades; yes, I know!" Ward was angry, but he realized the necessity for holding his temper.
"Why did you do that, Mr. Hunter, if I may ask? What did you expect to gain?"
Hunter made the queer noise in his throat and then he stammered:
"Well, Mr. Ward, you must understand that--heh--our Trust Company is a state institution--and I felt it to be my duty, as a citizen, you know, to report any irregularities to the proper official. Merely my duty, as a citizen, Mr. Ward, you understand, as a citizen. Painful, to be sure, but my duty."
Ward might not have been able to conceal the disgust he felt for this old man if he had not, for the first time that evening, been reminded by Hunter's own words that the affair was not one to come within the federal statutes. What Hunter's motive had been in reporting the matter to Eades so promptly, he could not imagine. It would seem that he could have dealt better by keeping the situation in his own hands; that he could have held the threat of prosecution over his head as a weapon quite as menacing as this, and certainly one he could more easily control. But Hunter was mysterious; he waded in the water, and Ward could not follow his tracks. He was sure of but one thing, and that was that the reason Hunter had given was not the real reason.
"You might have waited, it seems to me, Mr. Hunter," he said. "You might have had some mercy on the boy."
Ward did not see the peculiar smile that played on Hunter's face.
"If I remember, Mr. Ward, you had a young man in your employ once, who--"
Ward could scarcely repress a groan.