As Orde walked home that evening, after a hot day, his mind was full of speculation as to the immediate future. He had a local reputation for wealth, and no one knew better than himself how important it is for a man in debt to keep up appearances. Nevertheless, decided retrenchment would be necessary. After Bobby had gone to bed, he explained this to his wife.
“What's the matter?” she asked quickly. “Is the firm losing money?”
“No,” replied Orde, “it's a matter of reinvestment.” He hesitated. “It's a dead secret, which I don't want to get out, but I'm thinking of buying some western timber for Bobby when he grows up.”
Carroll laughed softly.
“You so relieve my mind,” she smiled at him. “I was afraid you'd decided on the street-car-driver idea. Why, sweetheart, you know perfectly well we could go back to the little house next the church and be as happy as larks.”
XXXII
In the meantime Newmark had closed his desk, picked his hat from the nail, and marched precisely down the street to Heinzman's office. He found the little German in. Newmark demanded a private interview, and without preliminary plunged into the business that had brought him. He had long since taken Heinzman's measure, as, indeed, he had taken the measure of every other man with whom he did or was likely to do business.
“Heinzman,” said he abruptly, “my partner wants to raise seventy-five thousand dollars for his personal use. I have agreed to get him that money from the firm.”
Heinzman sat immovable, his round eyes blinking behind his big spectacles.