“The fact is, Mr. Bradstone, I was just thinking of coming down to you.”
“Coming down to me!” said Bartley Bradstone, with a frown.
“Why——Well, sir, I wanted to place one or two matters before you. The fact is, things have not been very bright in the city of late, and I have not had the advantage of your advice quite so much, and perhaps you have heard the news.”
“What news?” asked Bartley Bradstone.
“I allude to the South Indian Bank, Mr. Bradstone,” said Mr. Mowle, passing his hand over his mouth and eying Bartley Bradstone with the same watchful and deprecatory manner.
“Well, what about it?” said Bartley Bradstone; “I wrote and gave you instructions to sell those South Indian Bank shares a week ago.”
Mr. Mowle gave a little start, and shook his head apologetically.
“I—I beg your pardon, sir; I think a slight misunderstanding,” as if he were trying to gain time to collect himself.
“Misunderstanding! What do you mean? Do you mean to say I didn’t write?”
“I did not say you did not write, Mr. Bradstone; but I certainly did not receive the letter.”