When Mr. Sparhawk left the apothecary shop he did not go home directly. First he paused at the side door, knocked circumspectly, and then inquired of the maid if mademoiselle was at home; she was, so it chanced, and he went up and in a few minutes was engaged in talk with her.
"I trust," said he, "that your father is quite well."
"Not altogether so," replied Mademoiselle Lafargue. "There have been so many disquieting things of late; he is cast down, and so his health suffers."
Mr. Sparhawk clicked his tongue pityingly. It was too bad, indeed. So many were incapacitated just then. Let the mind become fatigued by over-anxiety and harm was sure to result. Of course the Rufus Stevens' Sons affair must have added a deal to her father's disquiet. A most regrettable state of affairs, it was, too; to have a fine commercial house in such a state was deplorable.
"But," said mademoiselle, "all hope for it is not lost."
No, he felt that, too. He agreed with her; all hope was not lost. The house was in a bad way, to be sure, but actual practice showed it was most difficult to destroy a concern built up as solidly as this one had been.
"Only the most barbarous mercantile methods will do it," said Mr. Sparhawk; "for, you see, the place it has made for itself is so well settled and so customary that all usual processes favor it. Even now, confused as this house is," said Mr. Sparhawk, nodding with much vehemence, "there is fixed in my mind a sense of its potential strength. With considerate usage it will lift its head; it will resume and flourish."
The fine eyes of Mademoiselle Lafargue glowed. She went to a cabinet and, opening a drawer, took out some papers.
"But," said Mr. Sparhawk, "what chance is there for decent usage? Consider the cormorants gathered to stuff themselves; how can their greed be controlled?"
"I had thought of a way," said the girl. She sat down on the sofa beside Mr. Sparhawk, the papers in her hand. The perky little manner of that gentleman became much magnified; he put his finger-tips together, cocked his head sidewise, and pursed up his mouth. "My father," she said, "is a creditor of Rufus Stevens' Sons,—in a large way, I'm afraid,—representing his own name and those of other people in Brest. There are also certain bankers and citizens of that city who also possess credits."