“No, sir,” replied Edgar Vyce, his bookkeeper and office manager—a tall, saturnine-looking man, who had been in his employ several years.
“Send him in as soon as he comes back.”
The bookkeeper nodded carelessly and resumed his writing.
“Miss Brown,” said Jared to his stenographer and typewriter, a very pretty brown-eyed girl of seventeen, the only other occupant of the room, whose desk stood close to one of the windows overlooking La Salle Street.
She immediately left her machine and followed her employer into the inner sanctum.
Mr. Whitemore was a well-known speculator, one of the shrewdest and most successful operators on the Chicago Board of Trade.
He owned some of the best business sites in the city, and his ground rents brought him in many thousands a year.
Accounted a millionaire many times over, no one could with any degree of certainty say exactly what he was worth.
His plainly furnished office was on an upper floor of the Rookery Building.
He did business for nobody but himself. Jarboe, Willicutt & Co., whose offices were on the ground floor of the Board of Trade Building, were his brokers.