Mr. Tidd nodded, but didn’t say anything, because he didn’t think of anything to say.
“I,” says the man, “am Hamilton Carver, attorney for the International Engineering Company.”
“Oh,” Mr. Tidd says, in a dull sort of way, “be you?”
“Yes, sir.” Carver blew out his chest and looked important. “I came from Pittsburg to have a talk with you, sir.”
“From Pittsburg?” says Mr. Tidd. “From Pittsburg, eh? To talk with me? Um! Well, mister, there ain’t anything I want to talk about to-day. No, sir, not a thing.”
“But I have something I want to talk with you about, and it’ll be very much to your advantage to listen to me.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Mr. Tidd says, mostly to himself. “My son’s gone, and my turbine’s gone—everything’s gone. I’ve read the Decline and Fall, mister, for two hours. Two hours! But it hain’t helped none. I wisht I knew what to do.”
“May I come in?” asked the lawyer.
“Come in,” says Mr. Tidd, “and sit.”
They went into the parlor, where Carver sat down; but Mr. Tidd went right on pacing up and down as if he was all alone, reading away at the Decline and Fall, and mumbling, and shaking his head, and tugging away at his ear.