“Or you,” thought the broker; but he said:
“Your suggestion is worth considering, but I don't think Grant has had any opportunity to lose money in that way, as he spends his evenings usually at home.”
“It wouldn't take long to lose a great deal of money, sir.”
“That explains it,” said the housekeeper, speaking for the first time. “I have no doubt Willis is right, and the boy gambles.”
“I presume, Mr. Ford,” said the broker, with a peculiar look, “that you do not approve of gambling?”
“Most certainly not, sir,” said Ford, his face expressing the horror which a so-well-conducted young man must naturally feel for so pernicious a habit.
“I am glad to hear it. Will you excuse me a moment?”
After the broker had left the room, Mrs. Estabrook turned to Willis and said: “You are pretty sharp, Willis. You have found out this wretched boy, and now I think we shall get rid of him.”
“I flatter myself, mother,” said Willis, complacently, “that I have given the old man some new ideas as to the character of his favorite. I don't think we shall see him in the office again.”
As he spoke, his ears caught the sound of ascending footsteps on the stairs without. He was rather puzzled. He conjectured that Grant had been summoned to confront his accuser, but there seemed, from the sound, to be more than two approaching. When the door opened, and the broker gravely ushered in Jim Morrison and Tom Calder, both looking ill at ease, followed by Grant Thornton, he looked amazed and perplexed.