CHAPTER III. GRANT IS MYSTERIOUS.
The occupants of the office waited for a few moments to see if the English merchant and his hopeful offspring cared to continue the scrimmage, but no attempt was made to open the door. Nattie glanced through the window, and saw them retreating up the street as fast as they could walk.
"Well, did you ever see the beat of that?" he finally exclaimed, turning back to his companions. "What is the meaning of it all, brother?"
Grant, who was still fuming with indignation, explained the affair in detail. Presently he quieted down and concluded by saying, regretfully:
"I am very sorry it occurred. To have such a row in this office is simply disgraceful. It also means an immediate suit for that debt, and any amount of trouble."
"We'll see if it can't be prevented," replied Nattie, cheerfully. "This is Mori Okuma, brother. You remember him."
The lame youth turned with outstretched hand and a smile of welcome to his brother's friend. The young Japanese, whose modest garb and quiet manner proclaimed the high-class native, responded cordially to the greeting. He appeared to be not more than eighteen years of age. He had the kindly eyes and gentle expression of his race.
"I am greatly obliged to you for your assistance," said Grant. "But I must apologize for such a scene. It is unfortunate that you found this generally respectable office the theatre for a brawl. Believe me, it was entirely unsolicited on my part."
"Oh, Mori don't mind that," broke in Nattie, with a laugh. "I'll wager a yen it reminded him of old times. He was center rush in the Yale football team, you know."
Mori smiled, and shook a warning finger at his friend.