“Mr. Bertram is my friend and business confidant.”
“Very good. You—you have read it?”
“Yes.”
“Then—then—then—” The visitor fumbled, with nerveless fingers, at his tightly buttoned cut-away coat. It resisted his efforts. Suddenly, with a snarl of exasperation, he dragged violently at the lapel, tearing the button outright from the cloth. “Look what I have done,” he said, staring stupidly for a moment at the button which had shot across the room. Then, to the amazed consternation of the others, he burst into tears.
Average Jones pushed a chair behind him, while Bertram brought him a glass of water. He gulped out his thanks, and, mastering himself after a moment’s effort, drew a paper from his inner pocket which he placed on the desk. It was a certified check for one hundred dollars, made payable to Jones.
“There’s the rest of a thousand ready, if you can help me,” he said.
“We’ll talk of that later,” said the prospective beneficiary. “Sit tight until you’re able to answer questions.”
“Able now,” piped the other in his shrill voice. “I’m ashamed of myself, gentlemen, but the strain I’ve been under— When you’ve heard my story—”
“Just a moment, please,” interrupted Average Jones, “let me get at this my own way.”
“Any way you like,” returned the visitor.