The office door opened, and the lawyer turning quickly from the window confronted a muffled figure.
“Are you quite alone, Jake?” and the voice was strangely familiar.
“Quite,” said the lawyer. “But who the dickens are you?”
The man laughed, and pulling off his cap, smoothed his hair and turned down the collar of his ulster; and Benson had the uncertain pleasure of gazing on Captain Gibb's flushed and florid face.
“Well, how are you, Jake?” said that worthy, easily.
“What has brought you back?” demanded the lawyer with some sternness.
“Some damn bad roads, and hard travel,” said the captain; he moved a step nearer and half extended his hand.
“There,” said Benson scornfully, “I don't need to shake hands with you.”
“Not if you feel that way about it, you don't;” and the captain laughed shortly, but he added, “Oh, come now, Jake, don't you be so high and mighty.”
He went to the fireplace and threw on a fresh log; the fire leaped up and its light filled the room. Benson gazed at him with some interest.