Fellows rose with a jerk and pushed the door back. His visitor smiled easily and launched into a discussion about stocks and bonds interspersed with a few assertions and questions not meant for the general ear, as:
"It's the girl who is in there. Not ordinary, by any means. Just the sort an old smudge like Stoughton would be apt to trust. Now what's that?"
"Singing. She often sings. I've forbidden it, but she forgets, she says," answered Fellows.
"Pretty good music. Listen to that note. High as a prima donna's. Does she sing at her work?"
"No; I'd fire her if she did. It's only when she's walking about or when——"
"She's in that room?"
"Yes."
"At par? I buy nothing at par. There! She's coming. I wish I dared intercept her, rifle her pockets. Do you know if she has pockets?"
"No; how should I?"
"Fellows, you're not worth your salt. Ah! there's a face for you, and I can read it like a book. Did a letter or cablegram come to-day?"