The Squire groaned.
“And, anyway, my old friend,” Woosenham continued gently, “advise me. Time presses.” He looked at his watch. “What shall I do? What had I better do? I know I am safe in your hands.”
The Squire sighed, but the other’s confidence was soothing, and with the sigh he put off his own trouble. He reflected, his face turned to the ground at his feet. “Do you think him honest?” he asked, after a pause.
“Who? Ovington?”
“Ay,” gloomily. “Ovington? The banker there.”
“Well, I do think he is. Yes, I do think so. I’ve no reason to think otherwise.”
“He’s a director, ain’t he?”
“Of the Railroad? Yes.”
“Responsible as you are?”
“Yes, I suppose he is!”