“He tried to get some money at the bank——” Nathan began.
“Sure! I know! I’m head o’ the discount committee. I turned down his loan. A man that can’t run his family no better than your dad’s run his can’t run no business—on bank money, anyhow. If he gets sick and quits, or there’s any way for you to have full charge o’ the business, come and see me, bub. But your dad’s exactly my idea o’ nothin’ to brag about, and the sooner he finds it out, the better!”
Tears came to Nathan’s eyes.
“I’m much obliged, Mr. Gridley,” he choked.
“That’s all right, bub. Come ’round some day and we’ll talk poetry. We was so kind of busy boomin’ the leather business just before your dad took you away that we almost forget poetry, didn’t we? But maybe we can ring in a day or two yet. Writin’ any more yourself?”
“I’ve been so interested in getting the shop running smoothly I haven’t had time.”
“Pshaw, now! Don’t you go lettin’ business get ye too hard! You’re a poet, young feller, and you got a talent that demands development.”
“I wish I could make dad see it.”
“He’s goin’ to see it one o’ these days. But I’m all-fired ’fraid—it’s goin’ to be too late!”
Nathan reluctantly withdrew and started downstairs. Caleb came after him in slippered feet, vest unbuttoned. This sort of thing always horrified his Duchess. If she could have had her way, the tanner would have spent his time at home in a dinner jacket.