Anthony had traveled the roads with Christopher Dent as far as the Delaware line, on more occasions than one, and he felt sure that he'd manage to keep to the way. So he gave his orders and went back to the counting-room. Charles had not yet arrived, for it was still a fairly early hour. However, Captain Weir was there; he stood with his back to the fire, his hands behind him, and greeted Anthony pleasantly.
"You are still going on with the books, I suppose," said he, after a space.
"Yes," said Anthony.
"Mind you don't overdo it; too much candle-light is a bad thing. But with all this attention you must be making progress."
"Yes," said the young man, "things are becoming plainer to me, I think." He took up a poker and shoved a billet, which was throwing a thin spiral of smoke into the room, back into the fireplace. "Though, I must admit, there are some I don't understand."
"To be sure," said Weir. "That is to be expected. But, perhaps, I could help you?"
But Anthony shook his head.
"Not yet," said he. "For I haven't made up my mind about the matters, except to think them curious, and to note that they stand out singularly."
"Books are kept for a firm's information," said Weir; "but, speaking for myself, I get little out of them. After a little they are a kind of a maze, and often mislead me."
"So far, I can't complain of that. But, as I've said, I've come upon an odd flavor here and there in the ledgers; it's made me curious, and I hope to come upon the reason for the oddness further on."