"Why, Gordon Keith!"
Keith glanced up in a maze at the vigorous-looking, well-dressed young man who was holding out his gloved hand to him, his blue eyes full of a very pleasant light. Keith's mind had been so far away that for a second it did not return. Then a light broke over his face. He seized the other's hand.
"Norman Wentworth!"
The greeting between the two was so cordial that men hurrying by turned to look back at the pleasant faces, and their own set countenances softened.
Norman demanded where Keith had just come from and how long he had been in town, piling his questions one on the other with eager cordiality.
Keith looked sheepish, and began to explain in a rather shambling fashion that he had been there some time and "intended to hunt him up, of course"; but he had "been so taken up with business," etc., etc.
"I heard you were here on business. That was the way I came to know you were in town," explained Norman, "and I have looked everywhere for you. I hope you have been successful?" He was smiling. But Keith was still sore from the treatment he had received in one or two offices that morning.
"I have not been successful," he said, "and I felt sure that I should be. I have discovered that people here are very much like people elsewhere; they are very like sheep."
"And very suspicious, timid sheep at that," said Norman "They have often gone for wool and got shorn. So every one has to be tested. An unknown man has a hard time here. I suppose they would not look into your plan?"
"They classed me with 'pedlers, book-agents, and beggars'--I saw the signs up; looked as if they thought I was a thief. I am not used to being treated like a swindler."