“Oh, yes,” said Harrish, reaching out his hand, which Joe failed to notice. “Didn’t recognize him at first. I have met Mr. Matson before. Come right into my office.”
He ushered them into the room and when they were seated he pushed toward them a box of cigars. Neither availed himself of the implied invitation.
It had been understood between them that Joe should do most of the talking, and, as was his habit, he went at once to the point.
“Mr. Varley has come to demand the return of the stocks he placed in your hands some time ago,” he stated bluntly.
Harrish started a trifle, but recovered himself instantly.
“Isn’t Mr. Varley able to make his own demands?” he asked with a sarcastic smile. “Are you his guardian?”
Reggie flushed.
“I’ve come to the conclusion that I need a guardian,” he said. “Mr. Matson represents me and has full authority to speak for me.”
“That being understood,” said Joe, “suppose you cut out the stalling and come straight to the point. Mr. Varley demands his stocks.”