"This way out, sir," Charley interrupted, throwing wide the office door.
When the strange visitor had gone Charley asked Walter why he refused to let the bonds be put in the safe. "Now we've made an enemy," he said resignedly.
"To let him raise money on that receipt for twenty thousand dollars, or equivalent—on Mr. Bright's name? No, sir-ee. Where were your wits, Charles Wormwood? That fellow's a sharper!"
"Guess I'd better attend to those potatoes," was all the junior partner could find to say, suiting the action to the word.
As was quite natural, much curiosity was felt as to what had become of Ramon, by his former business associates. In some way he had found out that Mr. Bright was in San Francisco, and taking counsel of his fears of being sent back to Boston as a confessed felon, he cast his lot among the most lawless adventurers of the day. Learning that a filibustering expedition was being fitted out at San Francisco against Lower California, under command of Walker, the "Gray-eyed Man of Destiny," Ramon joined it, keeping in hiding meanwhile, until the vessel was ready to sail. As is well known, the affair was a complete failure, Walker's famished band being compelled to surrender to the United States officers at San Diego. From this time Ramon disappeared.
Some five years later a young man, ruddy-cheeked, robust, and well though not foppishly dressed, drove up to the door of a pretty cottage in one of the most fashionable suburbs of Boston. Alighting from his buggy and hitching his horse, he walked quickly up the driveway to the house. The front door flew open by the time he had put his hand on the knob; and a young woman, with the matchless New England pink and white in her cheeks, called out, "Why, Walter, what brings you home so early to-day? Has anything happened?"
"Yes, Dora; Charles Wormwood is coming out to dine with us to-day. He only arrived to-day overland. I want to show him my wife."
THE END