"Well," remarked Knowlton, at the end of his summary, "our little job in Deep Harbor is nearly over. Remember how you hated to come out here? It isn't such a bad place, is it? Old Hélène, Prospero's gymnastic friend, wasn't so far wrong when she said 'Home is where you find it,' eh, Ted?"
I nodded in agreement. I couldn't talk about things I felt the way he could. Once more he grinned. "Now, Ted. What did you cable your father yesterday?"
Briefly I told him of my talk with Mr. Claybourne and the latter's suggestion that, as Knowlton had no interest in the business, he might leave us. Knowlton's face clouded when I had ended my story.
"So Claybourne told you I might play the skunk and leave you flat, eh?"
I tried to soften this epitome of Mr. Claybourne's remarks. After a second or two, Knowlton's grin returned.
"It would be plain murder to leave you in Deep Harbor with a factory on your hands. No, sir, you can always count on six months' notice from me, if you need it. And under the circumstances I won't touch a cent of your father's bonus. He's sending it under false pretences."
I had much argument to convince Knowlton that we were not doubting his good faith. It was simple justice, I explained. The company owed everything to his ability and good service, from the time he discovered that Norwood had sold us a rather prettily plated gold brick to the success which out of all difficulties had since been achieved. We ended with a compromise: he would himself send my father a complete statement of the matter from his point of view, and if, after that, my father thought the bonus earned, then it would be accepted.
"I'm not going to push good money out into the yard, Ted," he concluded. "All I want to know first is whether or not it's mine. You meant well, but you may have given your father the idea I'm trying to hold you people up."
That evening Mr. Claybourne himself opened the door for me when I rang.