“We had begun to think you were ill, Colton,” he said in a relieved tone. “Anything the matter?”
“No, I stopped to see Mr. Gregg. I am on time, I believe, gentlemen, half-past eleven, wasn’t it?” and he consulted his watch. There was a peculiar tremor in Phil’s voice that made his prospective father-in-law fasten his eyes upon him as if to learn the cause. Colton looked as if he had been awake all night; he was pale, but otherwise he was himself.
“Yes, you are on the minute,” exclaimed the treasurer, picking up the bundle of papers and loosening the tape that bound them together. “You have just returned from the property, we hear. What do you think of it?”
“We have the certificate of the mining engineer,” interrupted Mr. Eggleston in a bland tone, regaining his seat.
“Yes, I have it here,” the treasurer answered, tapping the bundle of papers. “It is your personal opinion, Mr. Colton, that we want. The president insists upon this; he has a reason for it.”
Colton stepped nearer and looked the treasurer square in the eyes.
“My personal opinion, sir,” he answered in clear-cut tones, “is that the deposit is practically exhausted. I came here to tell you so. The engineer’s report is, I think, too highly colored.”
Both father and son started forward in their chairs, their eyes glaring at Philip. They could hardly believe their senses.
“What!” burst out Mr. Eggleston—“you don’t mean to say that——”
“One moment, please,” interrupted the treasurer, with an impatient wave of his hand towards Eggleston: “Do you think, Mr. Colton, that the issue had better be deferred?”