Amy bridled. "Sorry! I'm sure I care nothing about him."
"Then, I'm glad," said Narcisse. "I'm whatever you like. Is your father waiting for me?"
Narcisse liked old Fosdick—his hearty voice, his sturdy optimism, his genial tolerance of all human weaknesses, even of crimes, his passion for the best of everything, his careless generosity. "It's fine," she often thought, "to see a man act about his own hard-earned wealth as if he had found it in a lump in the street or had won it in a lottery." He seemed in high spirits that morning, though Narcisse observed that the lines in his face looked heavier than usual. "Sorry to drag you clear up here about such a little matter," said he when they two were seated, with his big table desk between them. "I just wanted to caution you and your brother. Quite unnecessary, I know; still, it's my habit to neglect nothing. I'm thinking of the two buildings you are putting up for us—for the O.A.D. How are they getting on? I've so much to attend to, I don't often get round to details I know are in perfectly safe hands."
"We start the one in Chicago next month, and the one here in May—I hope."
"Good—splendid! Rush them along. You—you and your brother—understand that everything about them is absolutely private business. If any newspaper reporter—or anybody—on any pretext whatever—comes nosing round, you are to say nothing. Whatever is given out about them, we'll give out ourselves down at the main office."
"I'll see to that," said Narcisse. "I'm glad you are cautioning us. We might have given out something. Indeed, now that I think of it, a man was talking with my brother about the buildings yesterday."
Fosdick leaned forward with sudden and astonishing agitation. "What did he want?" he cried.
"Merely some specifications as to the cost of similar buildings."
"Did your brother give him what he asked for?" demanded the old man.
"Not yet. I believe he's to get the figures together and give them to him to-morrow."