“That’s the cover of my next magazine. Never mind it. It’s not in your line.”
“Well, I should say not,” said the other with a slow grin. “I’ve been pretty much vituperated for some of my business deals, but I never sprung a thing like that on the public. ‘Forget thyself!’ That’s good, Early.” He winked a wink that came more from the soul than from the eye.
“Oh, drop it, Jim,” said Mr. Early, relapsing into the old vernacular. “I’m sick of everything to-night. Here’s your cocktail. Help yourself to a cigar.”
“You ought to get married, instead of sitting here with the blues all by yourself. Tell you, a warm little wife is a nice thing to come home to.”
“Thank you, Jim,” said Mr. Early dryly.
They sank into silence, a comfortable silence, permeated with the fragrance of tobacco, with warmth in the cardiac region, and with that crackle of burning logs that satisfieth the soul. But occasionally Mr. Early shot a sharp glance at his companion, and his study did not reassure him. At last he spoke.
“Well, out with it, Jim. It’s evident that you’ve something on your mind.”
“You’re right, I have,” said Murdock with sudden emphasis. “I don’t know whether you can help me, but it’s second nature for me to try you. I’m getting anxious about Barry and affairs connected with him.”
“What about Barry? I thought you had him in your pocket.”
“Oh, I’ve still got him in the pocket over my heart, and buttoned down tight,” said Mr. Murdock grimly. “It’s because he belongs to me that I’m looking out for him.”