“What name?” he asked, turning to Congreve.
“John Baker,” said Congreve, with momentary hesitation.
For obvious reasons, he thought it best not to mention his own name, as trouble might possibly come from the possession of the bonds.
“Shall I give you a check?” was the next question.
“I would prefer the money,” answered Congreve.
“Go to the cashier’s window, and he will attend to you.”
“Not much trouble about that,” thought Congreve, complacently, when he was startled by a voice at his elbow.
“How are you, Congreve?”
Looking around hastily, he saw a hand extended, and recognized a young man who had at one time been a fellow-boarder with him in Fourteenth Street. It is safe to say that James Congreve wished him anywhere else at that most unfortunate time.
“Hush!” said he, in a subdued whisper; “I will speak to you outside.”