When Mitchell was gone the banker sat down at his work again, but he could not put his mind on it. He fumbled the papers nervously. His brows met in a troubled frown. "I can't stand any more of this," he thought. "He is driving me insane—the man does not live who could put up with it day after day."
Going to the door, he asked one of the clerks to send Saunders to him if he was quite disengaged. A moment later his partner entered. The last five years had served him well. He had never looked better. His skin was clear, his eyes bright, his movement calm and alert.
"Did you want to see me?" he asked.
"If you are not busy," Mostyn replied.
"Nothing to do just now," Saunders said, sitting down near the desk.
Mostyn gave him a troubled look. "The old man has just left," he said.
"I thought I recognized his voice," Saunders answered. "He has a way of talking quite loud of late."
There was a pause, during which Mostyn continued to stare with fluttering lashes; then he said:
"He is giving me a great deal of trouble, Saunders—a great deal."
"I see he is; in fact, all of us have noticed it."