“So have I,” said Plank, “and it seems incredible.” He looked warily at Siward. “Suppose it is true that the Algonquin Trust Company is godfather to Inter-County. That doesn't explain why a man should kick his own door down when there's a bell to ring and servants to let him in—and out again, too.”
“I have wondered,” said Siward, “whether the door he might be inclined to kick down is really his own door any longer.”
“I, too,” said Plank simply. “It may belong to a personal enemy—if he has any. He could afford to have an enemy, I suppose.”
Siward nodded.
“Then, hadn't you better—I beg your pardon! You have not asked me to advise you.”
“No. I may ask your advice some day. Will you give it when I do?”
“With pleasure,” said Plank, so warmly disinterested, so plainly proud and eager to do a service that Siward, surprised and touched, found no word to utter.
Plank rose. Siward attempted to stand up, but had trouble with his crutches.
“Please don't try,” said Plank, coming over and offering his hand. “May I stop in again soon? Oh, you are off to the country for a month or two? I see.... You don't look very well. I hope it will benefit you. Awfully glad to have seen you. I—I hope you won't forget me—entirely.”
“I am the man people are forgetting,” returned Siward, “not you. It was very nice of you to come. You are one of very few who remember me at all.”