"No; he made a good thing of one or two speculations, and may possibly have twenty or thirty thousand dollars, if he hasn't sunk it in some of his mad schemes. I was foolish enough to indorse one of his notes without security. He is an unprincipled man; and if Whippleton has been operating with him, I am not surprised that he is in trouble. Now go, Mr. Philips, and send Mr. Faxon, with the invoices."
I bowed myself out, and hastened back to the counting-room, where I found Mr. Whippleton waiting my return with feverish impatience.
"What have you been about, Phil?" he demanded.
"Talking with Mr. Collingsby. He declines to have the stock increased, and don't approve your proposition."
"He is an idiot!" exclaimed the junior, with a savage oath. "What were you talking about all this time, Phil?"
"I answered the questions he put to me, and stated your proposition fully."
Mr. Faxon came in opportunely at this moment to save me from a more searching examination, and took his place at the desk. The junior partner was evidently vexed and disconcerted. He looked at his watch, and walked back and forth very nervously. In a few moments he went out. I took the mysterious invoices from the file, enclosed them in an envelope, and delivered Mr. Collingsby's message to the head salesman. It was very evident that an explosion could not be long deferred. Mr. Faxon would be able to inform the senior partner that the lumber mentioned in the fictitious invoices had never been received in the yard. The Michigan Pine Company had an agency in the city, and it would be a very easy matter to verify the principal bill, if it were a genuine one.
Mr. Whippleton soon returned. He looked more cheerful and satisfied than when he went out; but as he came near me, I smelt his breath, and found that his new inspiration was whiskey. He immediately sent me to settle with a building firm who had made large purchases, though he usually attended to this portion of the business himself. I was absent about an hour. When I returned, the junior partner was not in the counting-room.
"Where is Mr. Whippleton?" I asked.
"He went out about five minutes ago," replied the entry clerk.