It was the second day after the change that Anthony was summoned to the counting-house; immediately upon his entering, Tom Horn said:
"Your uncle is in his room."
Anthony knocked and went in. Charles sat at a table with Captain Weir; he looked haggard, as well he might, for in the last weeks of the plague his efforts had been tireless, and he had slept little. But, for all, there was a smile in his eyes, and his manner was as light as of old.
"Why, now," said he, "you're prompt."
"There is something for me to do?"
"Something which I should do," admitted Charles, "only I have a distaste for such things. But if you are so minded, you can attend to it very well."
"I am quite ready," said Anthony.
Weir looked at Charles, who drummed upon the edge of the table with his finger-tips and seemed at a loss for words with which to frame what was in his mind. But, with an effort, he finally said:
"Things do not always go as smoothly as one could wish; not even with Rufus Stevens' Sons, as," with a look at Anthony, "you've had occasion to see. Some time since, for one reason or another, it was needful that ready money in some quantity be on hand, and I was forced to go to old Bulfinch for it. The bills," said Charles, "are coming due, and, Bulfinch being dead, I'd like an arrangement of some sort with his sons that would carry the matter over to a more convenient time."
"And is it your thought that I should speak to them?"