The young man accosted him, not obsequiously, but frankly.
“I know you always take a turn in the park at this hour, Mr. Converse. I beg your pardon, but may I walk for a few steps with you?”
“Why do you want to walk with me?”
“It's a matter—”
“I never discuss business on the street, sir. Come to my office to-morrow.”
He marched on and Farr went along behind him.
“You heard?” demanded the attorney.
“I heard.” Farr replied very respectfully, but he kept on.
He had rushed away from the girl and had come face to face with Mr. Converse, his mind utterly barren of plan or resource. That interim on which he had counted as a time in which he might devise ways and means had been so crowded with happenings that all consideration of plans in regard to Archer Converse had been swept from his mind.
At all events, he had rendered a service in that time; he had made good use of that forty-five minutes—that reflection comforted him even while he dizzily wondered what he was to do now.