Young Mr. Brown sprang lightly up the steps of the Temple mansion, Rochester, and pressed the electric button.
“Has Mr. Temple gone to the bank yet?” he asked the servant.
“No, sir; he is in the library.”
“Thank you. Don’t trouble. I know the way.”
Mr. Temple looked around as the young man entered, and, seeing who it was, sprang to his feet with a look of painful expectancy on his face. “There’s a little present for you,” said Mr. Brown, placing a package on the table. “Four hundred and seventy-eight thousand: Bank of England notes and United States bonds.” The old man grasped his hand, strove to speak, but said nothing.
People wondered why young Mr. and Mrs. Brown went to Toronto on their wedding tour in the depth of winter. It was so very unusual, don’t you know.