"That's right, son. I knew I could make something more than a polite sosh out of you. I knew you'd pull up if you got into business like you been doin'."
"Come down-town with me this afternoon, and see me make a play, Uncle Peter. I think I'll begin now to buy on a margin. The rise can't hold off much longer."
"I'd like to, son, but I'd laid out to take a walk up to the park this afternoon, and look in at the monkeys awhile. I need the out-doors, and anyway you don't need me down there. You know your part all right. My! but I'd begin to feel nervous with all that money up, if it was anybody but you, now."
In pursuance of his pronounced plan, Uncle Peter walked up Fifth Avenue that afternoon. But he stopped short of the park. At the imposing entrance of the Arlingham he turned in. At the desk he asked for Mrs. Wybert.
"I'll see if Mrs. Wybert is in," said the clerk, handing him a blank card; "your name, please!"
The old man wrote, "Mr. Peter Bines of Montana City would like a few minutes' talk with Mrs. Wybert."
The boy was gone so long that Uncle Peter, waiting, began to suspect he would not be received. He returned at length with the message, "The lady says will you please step up-stairs."
Going up in the elevator, the old man was ushered by a maid into a violet-scented little nest whose pale green walls were touched discreetly with hangings of heliotrope. An artist, in Uncle Peter's place, might have fancied that the colour scheme of the apartment cried out for a bit of warmth. A glowing, warm-haired woman was needed to set the walls afire; and the need was met when Mrs. Wybert entered.
She wore a long coat of seal trimmed with chinchilla, and had been, apparently, about to go out.
Uncle Peter rose and bowed. Mrs. Wybert nodded rather uncertainly.