James passed into his private office and closed the door.
A quarter of an hour later his stenographer knocked. “He's here again, Mr. Farnum.”
“Who?”
“The man I told you of.”
“Oh!” James put down the brief he was reading. “Show him in.”
A figure presently stood hesitating in the doorway. James saw an oldish man, gray and stooped with a rather wistful lost-dog expression on his face.
“What can I do for you, sir?” he questioned.
“Don't you know me?” the stranger asked with a quaver in his voice.
The lawyer did not, but some premonition of disaster clutched at his heart. He rose swiftly and closed the door behind his caller.
A faint smile doubtful of its right touched the weak face of the little old man. “So you don't know your own father—boy!”