"I should hope, sir, that if I did have such friends I would know enough to keep business secrets to myself," says Vincent, his lips quiverin' indignant.
"Yes, yes, to be sure," says Old Hickory, "but——"
Honest, he was almost on the point of apologizin' to Vincent when there comes this knock on the private office door and I'm signalled to see who it is. I finds one of the youths from the filin' room who's subbin' in on the gate for Vincent. He grins and whispers the message and I tells-him to stay there a minute.
"It's a lady to see you, Mr. Ellins," says I. "Mrs. Jerome St Claire."
"Eh?" grunts Old Hickory. "Mrs. St. Claire? Who the syncopated Sissyphus is she?"
"Vincent's mother, sir," says I.
This time he lets out a snort like a freight startin' up a grade. "Well, what does she want with——?" Here he breaks off and fixes them chilled steel eyes of his on Vincent.
No wonder. The pink flush has faded out of Vincent's fair young cheeks, his big blue eyes are rolled anxious at the door, and he seems to be tryin' to swallow something like a hard-boiled egg.
"Your mother, eh?" says Old Hickory. "Perhaps we'd better have her in."
"Oh, no, sir! Please. I—I'd rather see her first," says Vincent choky.