"Oh, shy, I see! Just as well. Too forward is bad. We'll fix it. Good morning!"
And Bullion, sticking his hands in his pockets, went away with a half-audible whistle, to look after his debtors, and draw in his resources before the anticipated "squall" should come. Mr. Sandford had lost the opportunity of making his carefully studied speech; but, as Bullion had said, it was just as well.
Mr. Stearine came next,--a tall, thin man, with a large, bony frame, and a bilious temperament. A smile played perpetually around his loose mouth,--not a smile of frank good-humor, but of uneasy self-consciousness. He smiled because it was necessary to do something; and he had not the idea of what repose meant.
"You are going to the Senate, I hear," said the visitor.
"Oh, yes,--I've heard it from several. Mr. Windham approves it, and I just heard Bullion speak of it. A solid man is Bullion; a man of few words, but all his words tell; they drop like shot."
"Mr. Windham was good enough to speak of it to me to-day; but I haven't made up my mind. In fact, it will be time enough when the nomination is offered to me. By-the-way, Mr. Stearine, you were speaking the other day of a little discount. If you want a thousand or two, I think I can get it for you. Street rates are rather high, you know; but I will do the best I can."
Mr. Stearine smiled again, as he had done every minute before, and expressed his gratification.
"Let me have good paper on short time; it's not my money, and I must consult the lender's views, you know. About one and a half per cent. a month, I think; he may want one and three quarters, or two per cent,--not more."
Mr. Stearine hoped his friend would obtain as favorable terms as he could.
"You'll have no trouble in meeting the larger note due, Bullion, on which I am indorser?" said Sandford.
"Two birds with one stone," thought Sandford, after his friend's departure. "A good investment, and the influence of a good man to boot. Now to see Fletcher and learn how affairs are coming on. We'll make that ten thousand fifteen before fall is over, if I am not mistaken."
It was the evening of a long day in summer. Mrs. Monroe had rolled up her sewing and was waiting for her son. Tea was ready in the pleasant east room, and the air of the house seemed to invite tranquillity and repose. It was in a quiet street, away from the rattle of carriages, and comparatively free from the multitudinous noises of a city. The carts of milkmen and marketmen were the only vehicles that frequented it. The narrow yard in the rear, with its fringe of grass, and the proximity to the pavement in front, were the only things that would have prevented one from thinking himself a dweller in the country. As the clock struck six, Walter Monroe's step was heard at the door;--other men might be delayed; he never. No seductions of billiards or pleasant company ever kept him from the society of his mother. He had varied sources of amusement, and many friends, attracted by his genial temper and tried worth; but he never forgot that his mother denied herself all intercourse with society, and was indifferent to every pleasure out of the sphere of home. Nor did he meet her as a matter of course; mindful of his mother's absorbing love, and heartily returning it, he seemed always, upon entering the room, to have come home as from a long absence. He kissed her fondly, asked concerning her health and spirits, and how she had passed the day.