“At the bank, old chap; at the bank!” said Demorest emphatically. “Take my advice and don't go ANYWHERE ELSE. Don't breathe a word of your luck to anybody. And don't, whatever you do, be tempted to sell just now; you don't know how high that stock's going to jump yet.”
“I thought,” stammered Barker, “that you boys might like to go over with me.”
“We can't afford to take another holiday on grub wages, and we're only two to work today,” said Demorest, with a slight increase of color and the faintest tremor in his voice. “And it won't do, old chap, for us to be seen bumming round with you on the heels of your good fortune. For everybody knows we're poor, and sooner or later everybody'll know you WERE rich even when you first came to us.”
“Nonsense!” said Barker indignantly.
“Gospel, my boy!” said Demorest shortly.
“The frozen truth, old man!” said Stacy.
Barker took up his hat with some stiffness and moved toward the door. Here he stopped irresolutely, an irresolution that seemed to communicate itself to his partners. There was a moment's awkward silence. Then Demorest suddenly seized him by the shoulders with a grip that was half a caress, and walked him rapidly to the door. “And now don't stand foolin' with us, Barker boy; but just trot off like a little man, and get your grip on that fortune; and when you've got your hooks in it hang on like grim death. You'll”—he hesitated for an instant only, possibly to find the laugh that should have accompanied his speech—“you're sure to find US here when you get back.”
Hurt to the quick, but restraining his feelings, Barker clapped his hat on his head and walked quickly away. The two partners stood watching him in silence until his figure was lost in the underbrush. Then they spoke.
“Like him—wasn't it?” said Demorest.
“Just him all over,” said Stacy.