“Well, step this way, then, will you?” said Jim, the least bit crestfallen.
They followed him into Mr. Romer’s private room.
Romer was seated at his desk. Mr. Flint was seated hard-by at a table, examining some papers. Both rose at the entrance of the visitors.
“Ah, Arthur, my dear boy,” Mr. Flint exclaimed, “here you are.” He clapped his godson heartily upon the shoulder, and proceeded to pay his compliments to Mrs. Hart and Hetzel.
“How do, Ripley?” said Romer. “Glad to see you.”
Thereupon befell a moment of silence. Nobody seemed to know what to say next.
Finally Mr. Flint began. “I think,” he said, “I ought to tell you that Mr. Romer is to be thanked for all the good luck that we have met with. Except for his intercession, Mr. Orson would not have considered the bail question for a moment. As it is, Mr. Romer has persuaded him—But perhaps you’d better go on,” he added, abruptly turning to Romer.
“Well,” said Romer, “the long and short of it is that Mr. Orson agrees to accept bail in twenty-five thousand dollars. You know, Ripley, it’s our rule not to take bail at all in cases of this sort; and so he had to fix a large amount to ward off scandal.”
“And here are the papers, all ready to be signed,” said Mr. Flint.
“But where——” Hetzel began.