For an instant Mr. Prentidd stood there. It was evident that he had expected a different answer. True to his promise to take the old man’s word, however, he turned on his heel and walked out.
On the high sloping desk before Bellair’s eyes, a big ledger lay open. He had turned during the talk to the transaction of Prentidd—Lot & Company. The English disposal had been arranged for at twenty-five cents the file, royalty. Apparently Mr. Prentidd had agreed upon an even split, but Lot & Company had taken seventeen and the fraction.
Bellair was ill. The nausea crept down through his limbs, and up to his throat. The thing had worked out before him with such surety and clarity. The head of Mr. Sproxley moved about as if on a swivel, his body in writing position still. Presently he stepped down from his high stool, and came to Bellair’s side. Placing his pen behind his ear, he lifted the ledger from under Bellair’s eyes, his lips compressed with the effort. Then he placed it on his own desk to close it tenderly, after which it was taken to its niche in the vault.
The office was silent. Just now Bellair’s eyes turned as if subtly attracted to the place where Eben Wetherbee sat. The young man’s smileless eyes, almost insane with apprehension and sadness, were turned with extraordinary intent upon the place where his father sat. Bellair’s followed. The old man sat plumped in his chair; he gulped, tried to turn. His face looked as if he heard a ghost whispering. Yet he seemed unable to trust himself, hardly daring to meet the eyes that awaited. His hands lifted to the papers before him, but did not feel properly. He seemed a man of eighty. Mr. Eben came forward at last and asked Mr. Sproxley if he might look at the Prentidd transaction.
“It isn’t posted yet, Mr. Eben,” said the cashier.
At the side door at closing time, Bellair happened to pass a party of young women coming down from the bindery. One was saying:
“... and Mr. Prentidd was quite helpless after the scene—so that they had to call a taxi-cab for him. Isn’t it dreadful he drinks so?”
There was a personal result for Bellair, which he at no time misunderstood.