"I won't be a minute, Caroline. The fellow insists on seeing me. I'll just see what he wants."
Tying on a black necktie temporarily--the one he had taken off earlier--and putting on his morning coat as he descended the stairs, Mark entered the room where the visitor was waiting. And then Mark recognised Mr. Brackenbury as a gentleman who had recently purchased a few shares in the mine. Amidst the many, many shareholders, it was not surprising that Mark had forgotten the name of one of them. In point of fact these few shares had been Mark's own. Being excessively pressed for ready money he had ordered his broker to sell them out.
"Oh, Mr. Brackenbury!" said Mark, shaking hands with him in a cordial manner. "Do you know, your name had completely escaped my memory. I have not a moment to spare for you tonight. I am going out with my wife to dinner."
"Mr. Cray," said the visitor, a middle wed, solemn-looking man, "you must return me my two hundred pounds. I have come for it."
"Return you your two hundred pounds!" echoed Mark. "My good sir, I don't understand you. What two hundred pounds?"
"The two hundred pounds I paid for those shares. They were transferred from your name to mine; therefore I know they were your own."
"They were my own," said Mark. "What of that?"
"Well, I must have the money returned to me, and you can receive back the shares. I have brought them in my pocket. I am of a determined spirit, sir, and I will have it returned." Mark flew into a rage. He was a great man now, and great men do not take such words with impunity. "You can have your money back tomorrow," he said, with haughty contempt. "Take the shares to my broker--if you don't possess one of your own--and he will repurchase them of you."
"Ah," said Mr. Brackenbury. "But I want the money from you tonight. I want it now."
"Then you can't have it," returned Mark.