“Yes, sir.”
“We lost sixty thousand dollars up there.”
“Yes?”
“Your father was Briggs of Tuolumne?”
“Yes, sir.” Jeff's head dropped, but, glancing shyly up, he saw a pleasant smile on his questioner's face. He was still writing rapidly, but was apparently enjoying at the same time some pleasant recollection.
“Your father and I lost nearly sixty thousand dollars together one night, ten years ago, when we were both younger.”
“Yes, sir,” said Jeff dubiously.
“But it was OUR OWN MONEY, Jeff.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Here's your appointment,” he said briefly, throwing away his pen, folding what he had written, and handing it to Jeff. It was the first time that he had looked at him since he entered. He now held out his hand, grasped Jeff's, and said, “Good-night!”