“Do you happen to know where Mr. Rayburn Miller's law office is?” he asked.
“Yes; it's right round the corner. I know whar all the white men in this town do business, an' he's as white as they make 'em, an' as straight as a shingle.”
“He's an acquaintance of mine,” said Wilson. “I thought I'd run in and see him before I leave.”
“It's right round the corner, an' down the fust side street, towards the court-house. I 'ain't got nothin' to do; I 'll p'int it out.”
“Thank you,” said Wilson, and they went out of the house and down the street together, Pole puffing vigorously at his cigar in the brisk breeze.
“Thar you are,” said Pole, pointing to Miller's sign. “Good-day, sir; much obleeged fer this smoke,” and with his head in the air Pole walked past the office without looking in.
“Good-morning,” exclaimed Miller, as Wilson entered. “You are not an early riser like we are here in the country.” He introduced Wilson all round, and then gave him a chair near his desk and facing him rather than the others.
“This is the gentleman who owns the property, I believe,” said Wilson, suavely, as he indicated Bishop.
Miller nodded, and a look of cunning dawned in his clear eye.
“Yes. I have just been explaining to Mr. and Mrs. Bishop that the mere signing of a paper such as will be necessary to secure the loan will not bind them at all in the handling of their property. You know how cautious older people are nowadays in regard to legal matters. Now, Alan here, their son, understands the matter thoroughly, and his mind is not at all disturbed.”