“I never dreamed it,” I almost sobbed, shaking his hand.
“It’s pretty rough,” he said. “I hope you won’t show the white feather by doing anything desperate?”
I shook my head, and walked to the door. As I reached it a new thought occurred to me, and, turning, I asked, “What has the legal rate of interest been since 1879?”
For reply he touched an electric button on his desk, and I heard the lock click in the door by which I stood. He pulled a chair near his own, and commanded, “Come here and sit down,” in such a peremptory tone that I obeyed. “Why did you ask that question?” he catechised.
“That I may find out how much I owe Miss Walton.”
“What for?”
“To attempt restitution.”
“I hope you know what you’re talking about?”
“I’m still rather confused, but so much I can see clearly enough.”
“How much property have you?”