“On what?” snapped Breen, something of his old dictatorial manner asserting itself.
“On my word,” replied Jack, with a note of triumph, which he could not wholly conceal.
The door opened and the cashier entered. Breen handed him the bonds, gave instructions about the drawing of the check, and turned to Jack again. He was still suffering from amazement, the boy's imperturbable manner being responsible for most of it.
“And does this pay Minott's debts?” he asked in a more conciliatory tone.
“Every dollar,” replied Jack.
Breen looked up. Where had the boy got this poise and confidence, he asked himself, as a flush of pride swept through him; after all, Jack was of his own blood, his brother's son.
“And I suppose now that it's you who will be doing the walking instead of Minott's creditors?” Breen inquired with a frown that softened into a smile as he gazed the longer into Jack's calm eyes.
“Yes, for a time,” rejoined Jack in the same even, unhurried voice.
The clerk brought in the slip of paper, passed it to his employer, who examined it closely, and who then affixed his signature.
“If you get any more of that kind of stuff and want help in the new work, let me know.”