Gallatin paused and walked, his head bent, the length of the room. John Kenyon followed him with his eyes, then turned to the window and for a long while remained motionless. Philip Gallatin returned to the vacant chair and sat leaning forward eagerly.
The senior partner turned at last, his kind homely face alight with a smile.
“You don’t need my faith, my boy, if you’ve got faith of your own, but I give it to you gladly. Give me your hand.” He got up and the two men clasped hands, and Phil Gallatin’s eyes did not flicker or fade before the searching gaze of the other man. It was a pact, none the less solemn for the silence with which one of them entered into it.
“You’re awake, Phil?” he asked.
“Yes, that’s it, Uncle John. Awake,” said Gallatin.
“I’m glad—I’m very glad. And I believe it. I’ve never been able to get used to the idea of your being really out of here. We need you, my boy, and I’ve got work for you, of the kind that will put your mettle to the test. There’s a great opportunity in it, and I’ll gladly turn it over to you. ‘Sic itur ad astra,’ my boy. Will you take it?”
“Gladly. A corporation case?”
“Sanborn et al. vs. The Sanborn Mining Company. Sit here and I’ll explain it to you.”