“Why!” cried Steele to him, the morning after the figures were known to them, “you don’t seem nearly so happy as I expected. You surely did not look for the shares to be subscribed twice over?”
“No,” said Metcalfe gloomily, “but the amount that has been subscribed shows what vitality there was in the scheme.”
“Vitality!” cried Steele. “Bless my soul! you never doubted it, did you?”
“Oh, no, no,” said Metcalfe hastily. “No. I told you we were dead sure of a third, and the actual subscriptions have more than justified my forecast.”
“They have indeed!” cried Steele enthusiastically.
“I tell you what it is, Metcalfe, you’re one of the first financiers of this country.”
“Oh, nonsense!” cried Metcalfe, in no way cheered by the compliment.
“It isn’t nonsense,” said the genial Steele. “You’ve taken lessons from a first-rate master, for I look on Nicholson as one of the best men in the business.”
When John Steele had plumped a similar pointed remark at Nicholson, not the slightest change of expression had disturbed that individual’s calm visage. William Metcalfe kept his countenance under less perfect restraint. Steele’s smile was gentle and friendly, but his keen eyes missed no note of the other’s face. He watched a ruddy flush mount into his partner’s cheeks. He noticed the embarrassed hesitation that accompanied his utterance.
“Mr. Nicholson! Ah, yes, certainly, certainly. He’s not a friend of mine, of course, only a slight and recent acquaintance. Not the sort of man, Nicholson, to form friendships easily.”