“Yes, I see! Mr. Allan Cameron—um, um,” with his eyes on the letter. “Old and distinguished family—exactly so! Now, then, Mr. Cameron, I hope we shall be able to do something for you, both for the sake of my old friend, Sir Archibald, and, indeed, for your own sake,” said the banker, with a glance of approval at Cameron's upright form.
“Sit down, Sir! Sit down! Now, business first is my motto. What can I do for you?”
“Well, first of all,” said Cameron with a laugh, “I wish to make a deposit. I have a draft of one hundred pounds here which I should like to place in your care.”
“Very well, Sir,” said the banker, touching a button, “my young man will attend to that.”
“Now, then,” when the business had been transacted, “what are your plans, Mr. Cameron? Thirty-five years ago I came to Montreal a young man, from Scotland, like yourself, and it was a lonely day for me when I reached this city, the loneliest in my life, and so my heart warms to the stranger from the old land. Yes,” continued Mr. Ritchie, in a reminiscent tone, “I remember well! I hired as errand boy and general factotum to a small grocer down near the market. Montreal was a small city then, with wretched streets—they're bad enough yet—and poor buildings; everything was slow and backward; there have been mighty changes since. But here we are! Now, what are your plans?”
“I am afraid they are of the vaguest kind,” said Cameron. “I want something to do.”
“What sort of thing? I mean, what has been the line of your training?”
“I am afraid my training has been defective. I have passed through Edinburgh Academy, also the University, with the exception of my last year. But I am willing to take anything.”
“Ah!” said the banker thoughtfully. “No office training, eh?”
“No, Sir. That is, if you except a brief period of three or four months in the law office of our family solicitor.”