“I understand—thoroughly. Don’t trouble to ‘figure,’ as you call it. Oh! why did I humiliate myself? I should have known!”
“Caroline, please—”
But the girl had gone, closing the door after her. Captain Elisha shook his head, heaved a deep sigh, and then, sinking back into his chair, relapsed into meditation. Soon afterward he put on his hat and coat and went out.
Half an hour later he entered the office of a firm of commission brokers on lower Broad Street, and inquired if a gentleman by the name of Mr. Malcolm Dunn was connected with that establishment. On being answered in the affirmative, he asked if Mr. Dunn were in. Yes, he was.
“Well,” said Captain Elisha, “I’d like to speak to him a minute or so. Just tell him my name’s Warren, if you don’t mind, young feller.”
The clerk objected to being addressed as “young feller,” and showed his disapproval by the haughty and indifferent manner in which he departed on the errand. However, he did so depart, and returned followed by Malcolm himself. The latter, who had been misled by the name into supposing his caller to be Stephen Warren, was much astonished when he saw the captain seated outside the railing.
“Good afternoon,” said Captain Elisha, rising and extending his hand: “How are you to-day, sir? Pretty smart?”
The young man answered briefly that he was all right. He added he was glad to see his visitor, a statement more polite than truthful.
“Well, what’s up?” he inquired, condescendingly. “Nothing wrong with Caro or Steve, I hope.”
“No, they’re fust-rate, thank you.”