While Ramirez, interpreting for his friend Juan, was in the very act of urging an immediate acceptance, so that a matter of so little importance might be closed without further bother, and while Foljambe was holding back with an attempt to prove his indifference, making excuse that the assignee would arrive presently and they could then decide the matter, Olive had burst into the room.
“I beg your pardon, papa,” she said, frightened and faltering; “there has been a little accident, and I must speak to you alone.”
Foljambe, much startled, put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders, placed her in a chair, and requested his visitors to wait in another room until the return of the gentleman through whose hands the matter must pass. As they went out Ramirez darted upon the almost fainting girl a look of suspicion and resentment.
“What is it, my dear?” asked the father, anxiously. “What in the world has brought you down here alone, and in this condition?”
“Your friend, Mr. Whitwell, papa. He is waiting outside, I think; but never mind him or my appearance or anything, till I ask you if you have sold your San Miguel stock.”
“Good heavens!” cried Martin; “and what do you know, you kitten, about San Miguel stock?”
“Only that it’s up—up—on the top of the wave,” she cried, breathlessly, repeating what Juan had told in her hearing to Ramirez. “That they have made a rich strike of ore. This man I saw here just now has crossed the continent at top speed to buy you out; and another person—somebody called Latimer, who, he says, is the clever man of the syndicate—will be in New York to-morrow morning for the same purpose. Oh, papa, if you have sold San Miguel it will break my heart!”
“By George, I haven’t; but you were just in time!” cried Foljambe, greatly excited. “It’s the closest call I ever had in all my business life. How on earth you found out, Olive, beats me. But if it’s true—good heavens, child, how did you find it out?”
“They were at our house this morning—talking together in Spanish,” she said, her voice beginning to sound to her further and further away—“and I remembered what you had told me about San Miguel. I started without waiting a minute to find you, but the elevated train broke down, and there was a block on the cable cars—it was very hot—then my hansom horse fell down, and I hurt my wrist—I’m afraid, papa, it’s beginning to make me feel—a little weak.”