“Aren’t you the fine old comforter!” said Mr. Hammond, a touch of humor playing about the grim lines of his mouth. “You might just as well pronounce a death sentence over my forty thousand dollars.”
“Well, it isn’t my fault,” McCarty pointed out, reasonably enough. “I’m just contributing my little share to the gloomin’ party you started yourself.” For a moment his grin flashed out, making him look less like a mournful kewpie. His face sobered almost immediately, however, as he added: “Anyway, I’m not sayin’ a thing but the truth.”
“Don’t I know it!” retorted Mr. Hammond, the lines of worry furrowed deep in his face. “If only I could have kept Gordon we might have inched through some way, though he isn’t nearly as competent as the other two. But now that he’s starting for Europe——”
“You couldn’t blame him though,” McCarty broke in. “It’s his father that’s dying and you couldn’t have much respect for the lad if he didn’t rush to the old man’s side.”
“Who’s blaming him?” retorted Mr. Hammond irritably. “Have I said a word against him? The only one who is really to blame,” he added with a grim tightening of his mouth, “is that man Baxter. And some day I’m going to have the extreme satisfaction of telling him what I think of him!”
There was a short pause while both men thought uncomfortably of the gloomy future.
Suddenly Mr. Hammond looked up, and there was a new note in his voice as he said quietly:
“Jim, there’s just one little twinkling light in all the gloom.”
McCarty gazed at him with interest.
“And would you mind tellin’ me what that is?” he requested.