“Yes. And you know very well, Ham, that I’m not as bad as I used to be. I’m going to have a talk with Mr. Beman to-day.”
“Don’t you bother,” answered Bright. “I’ll talk to him—now.”
Hamilton Bright’s broad shoulders swung round, and he went straight to the senior partner’s room. Mr. Beman was in his usual seat at his huge desk.
“I want to speak to you about Ralston, Mr. Beman,” he said, briefly, laying one of his broad hands upon the shelf of the desk. “You’ve told him to go on the first of the month, because Mr. Alexander Lauderdale informed you that he drank.”
“Yes,” answered Mr. Beman, “I have, though I don’t know how you heard that it was through Mr. Lauderdale.”
“Well—it’s a fact, or Ralston wouldn’t have said so, in the first place, and I see you admit it. But there isn’t a word of truth in the story. Ralston gave up wine altogether last winter.”
“Do you mean to say that Mr. Lauderdale has told me—a deliberate falsehood, Mr. Bright?” asked the old banker.
“Yes.”
Now Mr. Beman had a very high opinion of Hamilton Bright, but he looked long and earnestly into the clear blue eyes before he made up his mind what to say.
“I’d not considered the affair as of any importance,” he said, at last. “But you’ve made it very serious. Mr. Lauderdale is Ralston’s cousin, and might be supposed to know what he was talking about.”