"Are you Mr. Elden?"
"Yes."
The lad looked shyly about the office. It was evident he was impressed with its magnificence. Suddenly he pulled off his hat, disclosing a shock of brown hair.
"Are you Mr. Elden that sells lots?"
"Yes. Or, rather, I did sell lots, but not many of late. Were you thinking of buying a few lots?"
"Did you sell lots to my father?"
"Well, if I knew your father's name perhaps I could tell you. Who is your father?"
"He's Mr. Merton. I'm his son. And he said to me, before he got so bad, he said, 'There's just one honest man in this city, and that's Mr. Elden.' Is that you, Mr. Elden?"
"Well, I hope it is, but I won't claim such a distinction. I remember your father very well. Did he send you to me?"
"No sir. He's too sick. He don't know anybody now. He didn't know me to-night." The boy's voice went thick, and he stopped and swallowed. "And then I remembered what he said about you, and I just came. Was that all right, Mr. Elden?"