He decided to go direct to Dameron and speak to him of the defect in the deed, more from curiosity as to what the old man would say than with any idea of helping the situation. It was an unwarrantable act on his part, considered professionally or personally; but he justified himself on the score of the old relationship between Carr and Dameron. Carr was out of reach; Leighton did not even know his exact address at this time. And there was old Rodney Merriam, his best friend, and there was Zelda!
Dameron sat at his desk with a mass of papers before him as Leighton entered. The old man wore a serious air, to which the mass of papers contributed. They were in fact merely the outgrowth of his dreams,—his efforts to reduce dreams to tangible problems in mathematics.
A puzzled look crossed Dameron’s face as he raised his eyes and regarded Leighton dreamily. Then suddenly, as though just recalling Leighton, he smiled and rose from his chair.
“My dear Mr. Leighton, this is a rare honor; I am delighted to see you, sir.”
He had never greeted Leighton so cordially before.
“Pardon me, Mr. Dameron, I have come on an impertinent errand.”
“I can’t imagine it,” said the old man, graciously.
“But I do so on the score of your old friendship with Mr. Carr. He is absent or I should have referred the subject of my errand to him.”
“I appreciate your kindness. Pray be seated.” The old man sat down, still smiling, and he brought the tips of his fingers together with his characteristic gesture.
“Thank you; but I can’t stop. As I said before, my errand is a trifle impertinent. You undoubtedly have your own counsel,—in Mr. Carr’s absence.”