"I declare, brother, this is really the first time I ever saw you excited," laughed Nattie. "Why, you positively look like another fellow. Just bide here for a while, and I'll look Mori up. He'll be down to the tea house near the bank, I suppose."
He brushed his sleeves where dust from the desk had soiled them, jauntily placed his cork sun-helmet upon his head, and sauntered from the offices, leaving Grant still trotting up and down in unwonted animation. The latter was alert and boyish. His face actually beamed—it was wonderful how the hope had changed him.
The mere thought that money might be secured and the house—his father's firm in which he had loved to labor—would be saved from the disgrace of bankruptcy was enough. The youth—he was nothing more in years—whistled a merry air, and limped to the window leading into the street.
Drawing the curtain aside, he glanced forth, then started back with an exclamation of surprise.
"Ah, they are at work early," he muttered. "I fancy the son's malevolence has brought this call."
A knock sounded at the door. Grant threw it open, and bowed politely to a man and a youth standing upon the threshold. The former, an austere Englishman, with dark side whiskers and a peculiar pallor of face, entered first. He was followed by a stocky-built youth, clad in fashionable garments. It was father and son, comprising the well-known firm of importers and traders, Jesse Black & Company.
Ralph gave Grant a malicious glance and seemed particularly pleased at something. The elder Black marched majestically to a seat near the center of the desk, and, after brushing the dust from it, settled himself with a grunt. All this with not a word.
The head of the firm glanced half contemptuously at the many evidences of disuse surrounding him; then he drew from an inner pocket a bill with several lines of writing upon it. This he handed to Grant.
"I suppose you know why I am here?" he asked, in a harsh voice.