“You will be sorrier to hear, Mr. Grinnell, that you are the cause of my worry.”
“I?” The astonishment was not so great as a sort of uneasiness, which did not escape the older man.
“Yes, Mr. Grinnell, you. Have you deposited any more—”
“Oh! I can withdraw it, if you don’t care to have it.”
“How much?”
“The same as last week.” Grinnell said it diffidently, uncomfortably, as if he felt guilty of taking undue advantage of the president’s kindness.
“Ten millions?” Mr. Dawson gasped slightly.
“Ye-es, sir,” doubtfully. He evidently would have denied it if he could.
The president took a cigar and contemplated it a long time. A boy entered with a card. The president said sharply: “I can’t see any one.” He threw the unlit cigar on the desk.
The office-boy hesitated; then, with a pale face, said, “It’s Mr. Graves.”