"Yes, but I'm the same Mr. Halliday."
"Oh—ah—yes," said the young man, "well, I'm glad to have seen you. Ah—good-bye, Bert."
"Good-bye, Bob."
"Presumptuous darky!" murmured Mr. Dickson.
"Insolent puppy!" said Mr. Halliday to himself.
But the incident made no impression on his mind as bearing upon his status in the public eye. He only thought the fellow a cad, and went hopefully on. He was rather amused than otherwise. In this frame of mind, he turned into one of the large office-buildings that lined the street and made his way to a business suite over whose door was the inscription, "H.G. Featherton, Counsellor and Attorney-at-Law." Mr. Featherton had shown considerable interest in Bert in his school days, and he hoped much from him.
As he entered the public office, a man sitting at the large desk in the centre of the room turned and faced him. He was a fair man of an indeterminate age, for you could not tell whether those were streaks of grey shining in his light hair, or only the glint which it took on in the sun. His face was dry, lean and intellectual. He smiled now and then, and his smile was like a flash of winter lightning, so cold and quick it was. It went as suddenly as it came, leaving the face as marbly cold and impassive as ever. He rose and extended his hand, "Why—why—ah—Bert, how de do, how are you?"
"Very well, I thank you, Mr. Featherton."
"Hum, I'm glad to see you back, sit down. Going to stay with us, you think?"
"I'm not sure, Mr. Featherton; it all depends upon my getting something to do."