Yet the morning and evening smile she daily bestowed on him was just as bright, just as winsome as ever.
Her sorrow was her own.
It was not for Vance to suspect what was passing in that true little heart.
Vance Thornton had returned from his lunch and was shut up in his private office, as usual.
In the last thirty-six hours corn had advanced three cents and the market was in a turmoil.
Bessie appeared at the door of the inner sanctum.
“There’s an old man out here who wants to see you on business of importance. He wouldn’t give his name.”
“Very well; let him come in.”
It was a noticeable fact that the pretty stenographer did not address the busy young operator as Vance any more; and the boy was too much preoccupied these days to observe the omission.
He was a curious character, the man who entered and stood humbly bowing to the young Napoleon of La Salle street, as many of the dailies called Vance in their scare-heads.