“Oh, it is nothing, Mr. Tracy,” she said, politely, and moved toward the door. “It was my ignorance of business rules. I am so sorry to have troubled you.”
Reuben followed her through the hall to the outer door, wondering if she would offer to shake hands with him, and putting both his stick and hat in his left hand to free the other in case she did.
On the doorstep she did give him her hand, and in that moment, ruled by a flash of impulse, he heard himself saying to her:
“If anything happens, if you learn anything, if you need me, you won’t fail to call me, will you?”
Then the door closed, and as Reuben walked away he did not seem able to recall whether she had answered his appeal or not. In sober fact, it had scarcely sounded like his appeal at all. The voice was certainly one which had never been heard in the law-office down on Main Street or in the trial-chamber of the Dearborn County Court-House over the way. It had sounded more like the voice of an actor in the theatre—like a Romeo murmuring up to the sweet girl in the balcony.
Reuben walked straight to his office, and straight through to the little inner apartment appropriated to his private uses. There were some people in the large room talking with his partner, but he scarcely observed their presence as he passed. He unlocked a tiny drawer in the top of his desk, cleared out its contents brusquely, dusted the inside with his hand kerchief, and then placed within it a perfumed note which he took from his pocket.
When he had turned the key upon this souvenir, he drew a long breath, lighted a cigar, and sat down, with his feet on the table and his thoughts among the stars.