As the day wore away, Keane fidgeted more and more, and often looked at the clock. “Another hour,” he said, half aloud, “only another hour.”
Richards looked at the clock too, and he often glanced uneasily towards the door.
What was going to happen?
“Only half-an-hour.” This from Keane.
“You seem pleased,” said Richards dryly.
Rat, tat—bang, bang, at the office door.
Both men looked up; Richards with a sigh of relief, Keane with gray face and flashing eyes.
Enter a tall, good-looking clerk, hat in one hand, a bundle of papers in the other. He was a stranger to Keane.
“Re the mortgage on estate of General Grant Mackenzie, I’ve come to pay it off.”
Old Keane grew grayer and grayer in face, and foam appeared on his lips. He could not speak.