CHAPTER IV
Another year passed. As he had feared it would be, John's life was all but aimless and becoming even monotonous. What mattered it whether he and Reed had one or two contracts more or less in the year? Neither of them really was in need of the profits earned, and the business continued to come as fast as they cared to attend to it. John liked best the outside work, for then he took Binks along with him, and sometimes in bad weather he even brought the dog to the office, where Binks would lie quietly under his desk till called out by his master for lunch or a short stroll in the quieter streets.
"You are too much attached to him," Reed said to him. "I have a friend who used to have a pet like that. Some devilish person poisoned it one night, and my friend never could get over it. He told me that if it had been his only child it wouldn't have hurt him any more."
John shuddered and frowned darkly. "I know how he felt," he answered, simply, and turned away.
One morning, when John had the office entirely to himself and was going over some intricate plans and estimates, his stenographer came to him.
"There is an old man at the door who wants to see you," she announced. "He refused to give his name or state his business."
"Well, tell him, then, that I won't see him," John ordered, impatiently.
The girl left and came back. "He wouldn't give his name," she said, "but he said to tell you that he was an old friend and was very anxious to see you—that he hasn't seen you for about eleven years."
"Eleven years—an old friend!" John said to himself, aghast. "Who could it be, unless—" The girl was waiting, and he said, "Tell him to come in, please."