Card? Warrington had not possessed such a thing in years. "I have no cards with me. But I have an appointment with Mr. Elmore. Tell him that Mr. Ellison is here."
The boy returned promptly and signified that Mr. Elmore was at liberty. But it was not the "old man" who looked up from a busy man's desk. It was the son: so far, the one familiar face Warrington had seen since his arrival. There was no hand-shaking; there was nothing in evidence on either side to invite it.
"Ah! Sit down, Paul. Let no one disturb me for an hour," the young vice-president advised the boy. "And close the door as you go out."
Warrington sat down; the bridge-builder whirled his chair around and stared at his visitor, not insolently, but with kindly curiosity.
"You've filled out," was all he said. After fully satisfying his eyes, he added: "I dare say you expected to find father. He's been gone six years," indicating one of the two portraits over his desk.
It was not at the "old man" Warrington looked longest. "Who is the other?" he asked.
"What? You worked four years with this company and don't recollect that portrait?"
"Frankly, I never noticed it before." Warrington placed the certified check on the desk. "With interest," he said.
The vice-president crackled it, ran his fingers over his smooth chin, folded the check and extended it toward the astonished wanderer.
"We don't want that, Paul. What we wanted was to get you back. There was no other way. Your brother made up the loss the day after you … went away. There was no scandal. Only a few of us in the office knew. Never got to the newspapers."