“How do you do, Mr. Stanton?” said David Marston, humbly. “It is many, many years since we met, sir.”
“Are you really David Marston?” demanded Mr. Stanton, never taking his eyes off the shrunken figure of his old clerk.
“I am, sir; greatly changed indeed, but still the David Marston who was formerly in your employ. Time hasn't treated me as well as it has you, sir. I've been unlucky, and aged fast.”
“I am afraid your mind is also affected. You have been telling strange stories to Mr. Pendleton here.”
“True stories, sir,” said David, firmly.
“Come, come, how much is he going to give you for this evidence of yours?”
“Stop, Mr. Stanton! You insult us both,” said Ralph Pendleton, sternly. “I am not the man to buy false evidence, nor is David Marston the man to perjure himself for pay. David, I want you, in Mr. Stanton's presence, to make a clear statement of his connection with the mining company by which I lost my fortune.”
David Marston obeyed, and in a few words as possible unfolded the story. It is not necessary to repeat it here. Enough that it fully substantiated the charge which Ralph had brought against his early guardian.
When he had finished, Ralph said, “You can judge what weight Marston's testimony would have before a court of justice, and whether it would help your commercial standing to have his story made public.”
“What is it you want of me?” said Mr. Stanton, sullenly.