“Eris.”
Smull was standing by one of the windows looking out on Broadway when Donnell arrived.
They discussed the estimate Betsy had submitted, came to an economic conclusion, parted.
Smull went down-town. But he could not keep his mind on business. He had a row with Shill, was brutal to a stenographer, made enemies of one or two customers, bullied his personal office force, and finally put on his hat and light overcoat and departed, leaving everything in a mess.
At the Patroon’s Club that afternoon he saw Annan passing, and saluted him; and was ignored.
This didn’t suit him. He turned back, and, coming up alongside of Annan:
“What’s the matter?” he asked; “anything wrong, Annan?”
“Yes, you are,” said the boy.
Smull was still smiling his near-eyed smile, but his sanguine features reddened more heavily.
They had walked as far as the Strangers’ Room. There was nobody there, not even a servant.