“Your bank honored this check?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Who presented it?”
Clymer pressed the buzzer and his secretary came at once.
“Ask Mr. McDonald to step here,” and as the man vanished on his errand, he addressed Mrs. Brewster. “How is Colonel McIntyre this morning?”
Mrs. Brewster's eyes opened at the question. “Quite well,” she replied, and prompted by her curiosity added: “What made you think him ill?”
“I stopped at Dr. Stone's office on the way down town, and his boy told me the doctor had been sent for by Colonel McIntyre,” Clymer explained. “I hope neither of the twins is ill.”
“No. Colonel McIntyre sent for Dr. Stone to attend Grimes—”
“The butler! Too bad he is ill; Grimes is an institution in the McIntyre household.” Clymer spoke with sincere regret, and Mrs. Brewster eyed him approvingly; she liked good-looking men of his stamp. “Come in, McDonald,” as the bank teller appeared. “You know Mrs. Brewster?”
“Mr. McDonald was one of my first acquaintances in Washington,” and Mrs. Brewster smiled as she held out her hand.