“I understand,” said Bolton non-committally.
“Shall I give you a check?”
“I could do better with the money. My name is not known now at any bank.”
“Well, I think I can accommodate you. I believe I have that sum in my desk.”
He opened a drawer in his secretary, and produced a hundred dollars in crisp new bills. They had been taken from the bank the day before for a different purpose.
Bolton took them joyfully. It was long since he had so much money in his possession. He had been his own worst enemy. Once a prosperous lawyer he had succumbed to the love of drink and gradually lost his clients and his position. But he had decided to turn over a new leaf, and he saw in this money the chance to reinstate himself, and in time recover his lost position.
“Thank you,” he said, but while there was relief there was no gratitude in his tone.
“And now,” said Stephen Ray, “I must ask you to leave me. I have important business to attend to. You will excuse me if I suggest it would be better to go away—to a distance—and try to build yourself up somewhat where you are not known.”
“Yes, to Savannah, if you think it will be to your advantage,” said Ray with equanimity.