"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--"