Albert went, but reluctantly. After he had gone his grandfather walked to the door of the outer office and opened it.
“Step aboard, Mr. Fosdick,” he said. “Come in, sir.”
Mr. Fletcher Fosdick was a large man, portly, and with a head which was rapidly losing its thatch. His smoot-shaven face was ruddy and his blue eye mild. He entered the private office of Z. Snow and Co. and shook the hand which Captain Zelotes proffered.
“How do you do, Captain Snow?” he asked pleasantly. “You and I have had some business dealings, but we have never met before, I believe.”
The captain waved toward a chair. “That's a fact, Mr. Fosdick,” he said. “I don't believe we ever have, but it's better late than by and by, as the feller said. Sit down, sit down, Mr. Fosdick. Throw off your coat, won't you? It's sort of warm in here compared to out door.”
The visitor admitted the difference in temperature between the interior and exterior of the building, and removed his overcoat. Also he sat down. Captain Zelotes opened a drawer of his desk and produced a box of cigars.
“Have a smoke, won't you?” he inquired.
Mr. Fosdick glanced at the label on the box.
“Why—why, I was rather hoping you would smoke one of mine,” he said. “I have a pocket full.”
“When I come callin' on you at your place in New York I will smoke yours. Now it kind of looks to me as if you'd ought to smoke mine. Seems reasonable when you think it over, don't it?”