Chester turned his glance upon Dick Ralston and rapidly took note of his appearance. He was rather a stocky man, with a red, pimpled face, a broad nose, small, twinkling eyes and intensely black hair. He wore a “loud,” striped sack suit, and on one of his pudgy fingers was a diamond ring. It was really a diamond, and he had often found it serviceable. When he was in very bad luck he pawned it for a comfortable sum, but invariably redeemed it when fortune smiled upon him again.
He followed Chester into the broker’s office. Mullins sat on a stool at the desk, picking his teeth. He looked like a man of leisure, with little upon his mind.
“Hello, Mullins, old boy!” said Dick, pushing forward with extended hand. “So you’re promoted to boss?”
“Yes,” answered the bookkeeper, showing his teeth in a complacent smile. “Can I sell you a house this morning?”
“Well, not exactly. I’m not quite up to that in the present state of my funds. If you have on your list a one-story shanty on the rocks near Central Park I may invest.”
“Cash down, or do you want to have part of the purchase money on mortgage?”
Then both laughed, and Ralston made a playful dig at Mullins’ ribs.
Chester could not help hearing the conversation. He saw in it a proof of the friendly relations between the two. This, so far as he knew, was the first visit made by Ralston to Mr. Mullins. It was clear that the bookkeeper felt that such a caller would injure him in the eyes of Mr. Fairchild.
“I am glad old Fairchild is gone,” said Dick Ralston, lowering his tone. “Now I can come in freely.”
“Don’t come in too often,” replied Mullins, with a cautioning look at Chester. “It might——”