“You may damn him, but that won’t silence him,” remarked the other, mildly.
“Well, what are you going to do?” growled Potts.
“Present you the offer of Messrs. Bigelow, Higginson, & Co.,” said the other, with calm pertinacity. “Upon it depend your fortune and your son’s life.”
“How long are you going to wait?”
“Till evening. I leave to-night. Perhaps you would like to think this over. I’ll give you till three o’clock. If you decide to accept, all well; if not, I go back.”
The stranger rose, and Potts unlocked the door for him.
After he left Potts sat down, buried in his own reflections. In about an hour Clark came in.
“Well, Johnnie!” said he, “what’s up? You look down—any trouble?”
At this Potts told Clark the story of the recent interview. Clark looked grave, and shook his head several times.
“Bad! bad! bad!” said he, slowly, when Potts had ended. “You’re in a tight place, lad, and I don’t see what you’ve got to do but to knock under.”