Bradley Wentworth was about to examine the papers when a bell-boy came up with a telegram. Wentworth tore it open hastily.
It was an urgent summons to return, as matters of importance demanded his presence at the factory.
He thrust the papers into his pocket.
“I am called home to Seneca,” he said. “I must catch the next train for Chicago, if possible. I will not detain you any longer, as I have no time to give you.”
“All right, Mr. Wentworth! I don’t want to interfere with your plans. My acquaintance with you has been very agreeable, and, as I trust, for our mutual advantage. I hope you may some time have further occasion to employ my services. Good day, sir!”
Bradley Wentworth was already packing his valise, and did not think it necessary to notice his agent’s farewell greeting.
“Three hundred and fifty dollars!” soliloquized Standish. “Did I ever have as much money before? I can’t remember the occasion. Mr. Samuel Standish, you can afford to live comfortably for a time. Did I do well to part with the papers, or should I have stood out for a larger sum? It is hard to tell. They must be worth more to the boy than this, but it is not likely he had money enough to buy them. On the whole, Samuel, you have probably done as well as you could.”
It will be remembered that Mr. Standish had a room at the Lindell. As he entered the hotel he met Gerald in the corridor.
“So you have got back?” he said with a pleasant smile.