“I came over to help in every possible way,” Jacob reflected, “and I have credit for about that amount at the First National Bank. You want a cheque, then, for—”
“Dear me, no, Mr. Pratt!” the other interrupted. “I don’t figure in this. To-morrow, by the first mail, we shall get the stockbroker’s note showing the exact difference. If you will draw your cheque then, payable to the stockbrokers, they will give you a receipt. The moment Mr. Samuel can hold a pen, we can transfer the amount back again to your credit. The only point is that your cheque must be on an American bank, so that the actual cash can be handled.”
“As it happens, that can be arranged,” Jacob promised. “You can rely upon me, Mr. Morse.”
“That’s very kind of you indeed, Mr. Pratt,” Morse declared heartily. “I have a heavy mail to attend to this morning, so if you’ll excuse me I’ll be getting on with it now,” he added, rising to his feet. “I have ordered the car for you and Lord Felixstowe. You will find the chauffeur an exceedingly intelligent man, and he will take you around New York and show you some of the things you ought to see. I should suggest luncheon at the Ritz-Carlton or the Plaza.”
“That sounds all right,” Jacob assented. “I beg that you won’t worry about us. We can look after ourselves quite well.”
“And you’ll be back by four o’clock to see Doctor Bardolf,” Morse enjoined. “You won’t forget that he is an exceedingly punctual man.”
“We’ll be back on time without fail,” Jacob promised.
Jacob and his companion spent the morning very much in the manner suggested. The latter was much quieter than usual, so much so that in the lounge after luncheon at the Ritz-Carlton, Jacob commented upon his silence.
“Lose your heart last night, Felix?” he enquired.