Copeland chose a cigar carefully and slammed the drawer on the box. Perhaps Farley had chosen Eaton as a proper person to marry Nan; she liked him; Eaton had always had an unaccountable fascination for women. He became impatient for the lawyer to continue; but Eaton had never been more maddeningly deliberate.
“May I assume, for a moment, Copeland, that you have obligations outstanding that cause you, we will say, temporary embarrassment? Just a moment, please!” Copeland had moved forward suddenly in his chair with resentment burning hot in his face. “The assumption may be unwarranted,” Eaton continued; “if so, I apologize.”
Copeland thrust his cigar into his mouth and bit it savagely. Farley had undoubtedly taken over the maturing notes at the Western National and had sent Eaton to taunt him with the change of ownership. Eaton removed his eyeglasses and polished them with the whitest of handkerchiefs. His eyes, unobscured by the thick lenses, told Copeland nothing.
“I may have misled you into thinking that my errand is purely social. I shall touch upon business; but I am not personally concerned in it in any way whatever. You might naturally conclude that I represent some corporation, bank, or trust company. I assure you that I do not. It may occur to you that Mr. Farley sent me, but he has not mentioned you to me in this, or in any other connection remotely bearing upon my errand. You may possibly suspect that some one near you—some one in your office, for example—has been telling tales out of school. I will say explicitly that young Amidon, while a friend of mine, and a boy I particularly like, has given me no hint—not even the remotest idea—of any such state of things. I hope you are satisfied on those points?”
Many persons at different times in John Cecil Eaton’s life, enraged by his cool, unruffled demeanor, had been moved to tell him to go to the devil; but no one had ever done so. Copeland did not do so now, though he was strongly impelled to violent speech.
“I will go the length of saying that you are in considerable danger right now,” Eaton went on as Copeland continued to watch him impassively. “If the Western National should foreclose on your stock, you would be pretty nearly wiped out of this old concern, that was founded and conducted for years by your father and is still identified with his name. I am in a position to pay those notes and carry them—carry renewals until you can take them up. I will say frankly that I don’t consider them a good investment, and I have said so to the person I represent; but to repeat again, I am not here as a lawyer or business man. My purpose is wholly friendly, and quite disinterested. I should merely go to the bank and take up the notes—thus destroying the hopes of certain gentlemen—your competitors in business—who entertain the cheerful idea of buying in your stock and putting you out of business. That would be a calamity—for you; and it would be deplorable to have an old house like Copeland-Farley lose its identity.”
Copeland was still silent. He had caught at one motive for this visit after another, but Eaton had disposed of all of them. Eaton’s reputation as a man of strict—of rather quixotic—honor did not encourage the belief that he would deliberately lie. But there was a trap concealed somewhere, Copeland reflected; he resolved not to be caught. If he effected an immediate marriage with Nan, Farley would, he believed, do something handsome for her. He would storm and bluster in his usual way; but he would hardly dare go the length of cutting her off entirely. It was conceivable that he might advance money to save Copeland-Farley from catastrophe. There was a vein of sentiment in Timothy Farley; brought face to face with the idea of having the business he had done so much to establish eliminated, it was wholly possible that he would come down handsomely if Nan were introduced into the situation as a factor.
Copeland was irritated by Eaton’s cocksure manner—a manner well calculated to cause irritation. Men did not make such offers from purely philanthropic motives. Eaton, moreover, was no friend of his; they hardly spoke the same language. Nan, he still suspected, was somehow the object and aim of these overtures. His mind worked quickly. He meant to marry Nan at once, within a few days if his plans succeeded, and he was not to be frustrated by any scheme for placing himself at the mercy of a new and concealed creditor.
“I’m much obliged to you, Eaton,” he answered steadily; “but I’m not quite all in yet. I can’t imagine where you got that idea. If I didn’t know you were a gentleman I should be pretty hot. Things have been a little tight with me, I confess; but that’s largely due to cutting down my capital in the drug business to back up what I had invested with Kinney. I’m working out satisfactorily and don’t need help; but I’m obliged to you just the same.”
Eaton nodded reflectively; his face betrayed no surprise.