Rosenheim crawled back to his desk, relit his cigar and endeavored to pull himself together. He had a half-scared, half-puzzled look on his face and once in awhile he scratched his head.
Meantime Peters repaired to the nearest hotel and ordered a dinner of steak and fried potatoes, washed down with a pint of champagne. He then purchased a new suit of clothes, a box of collars, a few shirts, and a hat. When he entered Mr. Banks' office an hour later the latter with difficulty recognized his visitor.
"I owe you three hundred dollars, I believe," remarked Peters, laying down the bills.
"Owe—me—What? You didn't get that money out of Rosenheim?" stammered Banks.
"Why not?" asked Peters casually. "Of course I did. Every cent of it."
Banks looked at him in utter amazement. He, too, scratched his head.
"Say," he suddenly exploded, "you must be quite a feller! Now, look here, I've got a claim against the Pennsylvania and Susquehanna Terminal Company for two million dollars that I wish you'd come in and give me a little help on. What do you say?"
Peters hesitated and pursed his lips.
"Oh, I don't mind if I do," said he carelessly.
You may have heard of the celebrated law firm of Banks & Peters— who do a business of about four hundred thousand a year? Well, that is Peters. Banks says he's "the ablest young lawyer in New York."