Matt, the wrathful broker reasoned, was to fly the aëroplane at the forthcoming government trial. If he pleased the government, and the machine was bought, then Mrs. Traquair would be able to take up the mortgage.
Murgatroyd paced his office for a long time after Matthews and Mrs. Traquair left. In the midst of his reflections, Prebbles thrust his head in at the door.
"A caller, sir," he announced.
"Who is it?" demanded Murgatroyd sharply.
"Siwash Charley."
A feeling of gratification swept through the broker's nerves.
"Send him in here. And, I say, Prebbles, you can put on your hat and coat and go home. You're quitting an hour earlier than usual, but you can make it up some other day."
Precious few holidays old Prebbles got without "making them up."
"Very good, sir," he said in his usual humble fashion, and faded into the other room.
A moment later Siwash Charley faced the broker.