"I don't see the Velasquez."
"No—no," stammered Underwood nervously. "It's out—out on probation. Oh, it's all right. I can account for everything."
Mr. Bennington continued his inspection.
"I don't see the Gobelin tapestry," he said laconically.
"Oh, that's all right, too, if they'll only give me time," he cried desperately. "Good God, you don't know what it means to me, Bennington! The position I've made for myself will be swept away and——"
Mr. Bennington remained distant and unsympathetic and Underwood threw himself into a chair with a gesture of disgust.
"Sometimes I think I don't care what happens," he exclaimed. "Things haven't been going my way lately. I don't care a hang whether school keeps or not. If they drive me to the wall I'll do something desperate. I'll——"
A ring at the front door bell interrupted him.
"Who can that be?" he exclaimed startled. He looked closely at his companion, as if trying to read in his face if he were deceiving him.
"Probably your friend of the telephone," suggested Bennington.