“Did—you—bring—it?” inquired Emanuel, almost tremulously.
“The clarinet? You bet your life I brought it—and she's a bird too.”
“I'm ever so much obliged,” said Emanuel. “I don't know how I can ever thank you—going to all that trouble on my account. Are you at the hotel? I'll be over there just as soon as I can close up—I can't leave here till three.”
“Stay right where you are,” bade his friend. “I'll be over to see you inside of fifteen or twenty minutes.”
He was as good as his word. At ten minutes before three he walked in, the mould of city fashion in all his outward aspects; and when Emanuel had disposed of Mr. Herman Felsburg, who dropped in to ask what Felsburg Brothers' balance was, and when Mr. Felsburg had gone, Caruthers' right hand and Emanuel's met in an affectionate clasp across the little shelf of the cashier's window. Followed then an exchange of inquiries and assurances touching on the state of health and well-being of each gentleman.
“I'd like mightily to ask you inside,” said Emanuel next, anxious to extend all possible hospitalities; “but it's strictly against the rules. Take a chair there, won't you, and wait for me—I'll be only a few minutes or so.”
Instead of taking one of the row of chairs that stood in the front of the old-fashioned bank, Mr. Caruthers paused before the wicket, firing metropolitan pleasantries across at the little man, who bustled about inside the railed-off inclosure, putting books and papers in their proper places.
“Everybody's gone but me, as it happens,” he explained, proud to exhibit to Mr. Caruthers the extent and scope of his present responsibilities.
“Nobody on deck but you, eh?” said Caruthers, looking about him.
“Nobody but me,” answered back Emanuel; “and in about a minute and a half I'll be through too.”