Suddenly he stopped. Lot & Company was merely something to master. Lot & Company was but an organised bit of the world which he had met; all men had their own organisations to face, to comprehend the vileness and illusion of, and then to get underfoot, neck and other vitals.... Bessie had helped him. There was something in that.... He felt the fighting readiness within him, and an added warning not to raise his voice. He must deal with Lot & Company on the straight low plane of what-was-wanted. That was the single level of the firm’s understanding.
Davy Acton smiled at him shyly—the first face after the pale telephone-miss at the door. Davy was more at home in these halls and floors than in the hotel dining-room. Bellair heard the jovial voice of Mr. Rawter behind his partition. From the distance, Broadwell glanced up and waved at him. Mr. Sproxley’s black eyes were fixed in his direction from behind the grating of his cage. Mr. Sproxley came forward, greeted him and returned. Bellair had asked to see the elder Mr. Wetherbee, but it appeared that Mr. Seth was not in.
“I’ll speak with Mr. Nathan Lot,” said Bellair.
“Mr. Lot is occupied.”
“Mr. Jabez then.”
Mr. Jabez came forth presently.... He had been married in the interval, according to Broadwell; the fact had touched the wide, limp mouth. A very rich girl had joined pastures with Jabez; so that this coming forward was one of the richest young men in New York, representing the fortune of his mother which the dreaming Nathan had put into works; representing the fortune he had recently wedded with or without dreaming, and also the Lot & Company millions. Mr. Jabez also stood for the modern note of the firm; he was designed to bring the old and prosperous conservatism an additional new and up-to-the-hour force of suction.... Mr. Jabez smiled.
“Hello, Bellair,” he said with a careless regard,—doubtless part of the modern method, the laxity of new America which knows no caste. The thought had formed about him something to this effect: “What’s the use of me carrying it—you will not be able to forget you are talking to forty millions?”
“Come in,” he added and Bellair followed.
Mr. Nathan was beyond the partition. The atmosphere of the dreamer had looped over into the son’s sanctum.... Bellair began at the point of his handing the letter, addressed to Mr. Nathan, to the station-porter at the last moment from the platform of the Savannah Pullman.
“But mails don’t miscarry,” said Mr. Jabez, impatiently.