“Yes, sir.” He came across.
“I thought you might like to make a present—to your friend Tomlinson?” He was holding out the slip of paper indifferently.
The youth looked down. It was a cheque for a thousand dollars. His face lighted with a quick smile. “It looks as if you were the friend,” he said.
“Tomlinson ’s no friend of mine,” said Simeon gruffly. “But you can send it.”
“It shall go today, sir.” He was moving away.
Simeon’s hand reached out to him. “It ’s to come from you, you understand?”
The young man paused. He shook his head slowly. “He knows we have n’t a cent in the world.”
“Make it from the directors then—for services rendered.” He laughed—a little bitterly.
“Yes, sir—from the directors—for services rendered.” John wrote the letter and sent it. But he knew that the cheque that went with it was not recorded on the books of the “R. and Q.” Road.