Up the dingy flights of stairs in an old-fashioned down-town office building, Mr. Henry Stolburst mounted with a vigor and energy that belied the signs of age in his visage. Tall, spare, handsome, with remarkably bright and keen eyes, he yet looked older than his thirty-five years. This appearance of age was due to his heavily lined face and his white hair. But close observation would have revealed the fact that the lines on his face were those of care and worry, rather than of age, and the color of his hair was of such a peculiar shade of white that the observer would have felt perplexed by the conflicting evidences of age and youthful vigor.
With never a thought of his appearance, however, Henry Stolburst rapidly climbed the stairs until he stood before a door on which appeared the simple inscription:
BURT CROMWELL
Pausing but a moment, Stolburst opened the door and entered. Burt, although this was but a branch office of his agency, happened to be seated at the desk, and glanced up as his visitor crossed the threshold.
“Mr. Cromwell?” asked the newcomer interrogatively.
“That’s my name.”
The stranger handed Burt his card.
“What!” said the latter, “are you Mr. Henry Stolburst, the African explorer?”
“Yes.”
“I listened to one of your lectures on the Dark Continent with a good deal of interest the other evening.”