“I should wish to pay you whatever the work was worth,” said Witherby, not to be outdone in nobleness.
“All right; we sha'n't quarrel about that, at any rate.”
Bartley was getting toward the door, for he was eager to be gone now to Marcia, but Witherby followed him up as if willing to detain him. “My wife,” he said, “knows Miss Kingsbury. They have been on the same charities together.”
“I met her a good while ago, when I was visiting a chum of mine at his father's house here. I didn't suppose she'd know me; but she did at once, and began to ask me if I was at the Hallecks'—as if I had never gone away.”
“Mr. Ezra B. Halleck?” inquired Witherby reverently. “Leather trade?”
“Yes,” said Bartley. “I believe his first name was Ezra. Ben Halleck was my friend. Do you know the family?” asked Bartley.
“Yes, we have met them—in society. I hope you're pleasantly situated where you are, Mr. Hubbard? Should be glad to have you call at the house.”
“Thank you,” said Bartley, “my wife will be glad to have Mrs. Witherby call.”
“Oh!” cried Witherby. “I didn't know you were married! That's good! There's nothing like marriage, Mr. Hubbard, to keep a man going in the right direction. But you've begun pretty young.”
“Nothing like taking a thing in time,” answered Bartley. “But I haven't been married a great while; and I'm not so young as I look. Well, good afternoon, Mr. Witherby.”