Mr. Pitt hummed and hawed. He was one of McNason’s most trusted overseers; and at the great factories which daily ground down human lives into the McNason millions, he had under his management a very large number of the men employed. The only fault that could be found with him from a strictly business point of view was, that he had some vestiges of a heart. These vestiges were troubling him a little just now.
“There was one thing I forgot to mention to you in my report to-day,” he began; “I can’t think how it slipped my memory.”
“Neither can I!” and Josiah smiled a hard smile—“Whatever it is, if you forgot it, it cannot be of much importance!”
Mr. Pitt did not seem to perceive the implied compliment to himself.
“Well, perhaps not,”—he answered slowly,—“still I should blame myself if I neglected it—I should certainly blame myself——”
Here he broke off and coughed nervously, while McNason, drawing a large elbow-chair to the fire, sat down and spread out his thin veiny hands to the blaze in irresponsive silence.
“It’s—it’s about Willie Dove, sir——” he said.
McNason looked up with peering eyes that narrowed at the corners like those of a snake.
“Willie Dove!” he echoed, slowly. “H’m—h’m—let me see! Who is Willie Dove?”
“Surely you remember him?” replied Pitt, quickly, with a touch of warmth in his tone—“Twenty-five years ago he was one of the smartest travellers in your employ——”