Mr. Grinnell extended his hand. The president grasped it; his own was very cold—and very dry. Mr. Mellen was gazing intently at the arabesques in the rug at his feet. He did not answer when Grinnell said “Good-morning.”
As the door closed, Dawson rose and approached Mellen.
“William?” he said.
Mellen did not look up. Dawson laid his hand on his friend’s shoulder and repeated: “William!”
Mellen turned an expressionless face to the president.
“He makes it!” said Dawson.
“He makes it!” repeated the richest man in the world, hypnotically.
“Do you feel certain of it?” Dawson’s voice betrayed his eagerness to find comfort in Mellen’s assent.
Mellen’s mind awoke. “What’s that? Certain of what?” But he still looked blankly puzzled. It made the president uncomfortable. He repeated:
“That he is making gold.”