Mr. Stanton raised his head, and his glance rested on a tall, vigorous man of perhaps thirty-five years of age, who closely followed the clerk. The stranger's face was brown from exposure, and there was a certain appearance of unconventionality about his movements which seemed to indicate that he was not a dweller in cities or a frequenter of drawing-rooms, but accustomed to make his home in the wilder haunts of nature.
In brief, for there is no occasion for mystery, Mr. Stanton's visitor was Ralph the Ranger, who had assisted Herbert from the clutches of Abner Holden.
Mr. Stanton gazed at the stranger with some curiosity, but was unable to recognize him.
“Have you any business with me?” he asked.
“Yes,” said the visitor, in a voice whose depth carried with it an assurance of strength.
“State it, then, as briefly as possible,” said the merchant, with a little asperity, for there was not as much deference in the manner of the other as he thought there should have been. Like most new men, he was jealous of his position, and solicitous lest he should not be treated with due respect.
“I will do so,” said the stranger, “but as it cannot be summed up in a sentence, I will take the liberty of seating myself.”
As he spoke he sat down in an office chair, which was placed not far from that in which Mr. Stanton was sitting.
“My time is valuable,” said the merchant, coldly. “I cannot listen to a long story.”
As the visitor was plainly, if not roughly, dressed, he suspected that he desired pecuniary assistance on some pretext or other, and that his story was one of misfortune, intended to appeal to his sympathies. Had such been the case, there was very little prospect of help from Mr. Stanton, and that gentleman already enjoyed in anticipation the pleasure of refusing him.