“Meanwhile—that is, while he is away—you have full swing, eh?”
“Yes; I suppose so.”
“Then you’ll be a fool if you don’t take advantage of it.”
David Mullins did not answer. He repented, now that it was too late, that he had placed himself in the power of such a man as Dick Ralston. As long as he owed him seven hundred and fifty dollars there was no escaping him, and Mullins felt very uncomfortable when he considered what steps the gambler wanted him to take to get free from his debts.
At this moment a dignified-looking gentleman living on West Forty-seventh Street entered the office. He was the owner of a large building, of which Mr. Fairchild acted as agent. He looked askance at Dick Ralston, whose loud dress and general appearance left little doubt as to his character.
“Is Mr. Fairchild in?” the caller asked.
“No, sir; he started for the West yesterday.”
“I am sorry.”
“I can attend to your business, Mr. Gray.”
“No, thank you. I prefer to wait. How long will Mr. Fairchild be absent?”