"I think I can manage it, John. Atkinson and Judge Langham's boy, Marsh, were just here and left a bit of cash. Maybe I can make up the sum." While he was speaking, he had gone to the safe which stood open in one corner of the small office.
In a moment he returned to the desk with a roll of bills in his hands which he counted lovingly, placing them, one by one, in a neat pile before him.
"You're still in the humor to go away?" he asked, when he had finished counting the money.
"Never more so!" said North briefly.
"What do you think of young Langham, John? Will he ever be as sharp a lawyer as the judge?"
"He's counted very brilliant," evaded North.
He rather dreaded the old merchant when his love of gossip got the better of his usual reserve.
"I hadn't seen the fellow in months to speak to until to-day. He's a clever talker and has a taking way with him, but if the half I hear is true, he's going the devil's own gait. He's a pretty good friend to Andy Gilmore, ain't he—that horse-racing, card-playing neighbor of yours?" He pushed the bills toward North. "Run them over, John, and see if I have made any mistake." He slipped off his glasses again and fell to polishing them with his handkerchief. "It's all right, John?" he asked at length.
"Yes, quite right, thank you." And North produced the bonds from an inner pocket of his coat and handed them to McBride.
"So you are going to get out of this place, John? You're going West, you say. What will you do there?" asked the old merchant as he carefully examined the bonds.