“Paul—oh, Paul!”
It was Rob Blake’s voice.
Hunt paled as he heard it, but recovered himself the next instant.
“Pshaw, he could never find it out,” he muttered. “I wish he had kept away till I put the business through, though.”
“Hul-lo, Rob, I’m glad to see you,” cried Paul, “come on in. I want to ask your advice in something.”
“Oh, I must protest against that,” sputtered Mr. Hunt, “this is a confidential matter, my boy. You have pledged yourself to sell——”
“I beg your pardon, I don’t think I have,” rejoined Paul, “and what’s more, I’m not going to sell till I ask Rob’s advice. He knows a lot more about business than I do.”
“Confound him, I think he does,” grunted Hunt, but he added aloud as Rob came through the gate, “Quite right, Paul, quite right. But independence in business is the keynote of success. Ahem, Mr. Blake, you are looking well.”
“I’m all right,” rejoined Rob, bluntly, taking no pains to hide his dislike of Mr. Hunt; then, without paying further attention to the leering plotter, he turned to Paul.
“Get your telegram, Paul? I dropped in at the telegraph office on my way down and Blinky told me he had sent a message to you by Mr. Hunt.”