Oliver held in his left hand a handsomely bound note-book and silver pencil-case which it was his custom to carry everywhere. Gregory, now about to pass on, and greet the crowds who were waiting to speak with him just below, was again stopped.
“Just a moment, Mr. Gregory,” said the other, slipping off the elastic, and opening the note-book with the dexterity of constant habit; “I want you to help me a little in gathering some very valuable statistics. It’s rather in your line, I take it. I have been engaged in this work for several years, and find it extremely interesting.”
Gregory noted the long, white, flexible fingers of the man, and the look, half of deficient intellect and half of cunning, in his face.
“Please make haste, Mr. Ingraham,” he said shortly, “there are others waiting.”
“I am making a computation,” Oliver continued imperturbably, “in fact, a carefully tabulated record, according to nations, of the probable number of souls from each nation now in Sheol—it is considered polite now to call it Sheol, I believe. We used to say hell when we were boys, didn’t we, Mr. Gregory?” and Oliver laughed his low, cruel laugh.
“Excuse me,” exclaimed Gregory, impatiently; “I could not give you any information on that subject. I have never been there. Allow me to pass on, if you please.”
Oliver closed his book as if not unaccustomed to rebuffs; but, as Gregory’s forward movement obliged him to retreat down the steps, he remarked slyly:—
“I had a message to you from the senator, if you only weren’t in such a hurry. He is one of the fellows that will have to go to now, weep and howl. He has the shekels, I can tell you! What he wants of you is more than I can figure out. I should suppose Ahab would as soon have sent for Elijah.”
“Did your father send for me?” asked Gregory, surprised. They were now at the foot of the steps, and the crowd was gathering about them.
“Yes; he would like to see you in his office on this same block, next building, as soon as you can get away from here. You work him right, and you can get something out of him for your Utopia.” The last words were called back aloud with a series of confidential nods, as Oliver turned and plunged into the crowd, who seemed to make a way for him with especial facility. Gregory saw him go with a keen sense of heat and discomfort.