“Can I see the proprietor?” said a boy addressing a clerk at the counter of Richard Goldwin’s bank. It was the morning after Herbert’s mysterious disappearance.
“What is your name?” asked the clerk.
“Felix Mortimer,” answered the boy.
“Mr. Goldwin is very busy,” replied the man at the counter.
“Very well, I will wait,” said Felix; and he seated himself in a chair in the outer office.
In a little while Mr. Goldwin came out of his private room, and, seeing young Mortimer there, recognized him.
“Good morning, young man,” said he, kindly.
“Good morning,” returned Felix, deferentially.
“Have you come to tell us what has become of young Randolph?” asked the banker.
“I don’t understand you,” said Felix, innocently. “I came because you asked me to do so.”