The following morning Jack walked into Arthur Breen's private office
while his uncle was reading his mail, and laid the package containing
the ten bonds on his desk. So far as their borrowing capacity was
concerned, he could have walked up the marble steps of any broker's
office or bank on either side of the street--that is, wherever he was
known, and he was still remembered by many of them--thrust the package
through the cashier's window, and walked down again with a certified
check for their face value in his pocket.
But the boy had other ends in view. Being human, and still smarting
under his uncle's ridicule and contempt, he wanted to clear his own
name and character; being loyal to his friend's memory and feeling that
Garry's reputation must be at least patched up--and here in Breen's
place and before the man who had so bitterly denounced it; and being
above all tender-hearted and gallant where a woman, and a sorrowing
one, was concerned, he must give Corinne and the child a fair and square
start in the house of Breen, with no overdue accounts to vex her
except such petty ones as a small life insurance and a few uncollected
commissions could liquidate.
These much-to-be-desired results could only be attained when the senior
member of the firm was made acquainted with the fact that, after all,
Garry's debts could be paid and his reputation saved. The money must,
therefore, be borrowed of Arthur Breen & Co. His uncle would know then
beyond doubt; his axiom being that the only thing that talked loud
enough ever to make him listen was “money.”
It was therefore with a sense of supreme satisfaction, interwoven with
certain suppressed exuberance born of freedom and self-reliance, that
Jack, in answer to Breen's “What's this?” when his eyes rested on the
bundle of bonds, replied in an off-hand but entirely respectful manner:
“Ten United States Government bonds, sir; and will you please give me
a check drawn to my order for this amount?” and he handed the astounded
broker the slip of paper McGowan had given him, on which was scrawled
the total of the overdue vouchers.
Breen slipped off the rubber band, spread out the securities as a
lady opens a fan, noted the title, date, and issue, and having assured
himself of their genuineness, asked in a confused, almost apologetic
way, as he touched a bell to summon the cashier:
“Where did you get these? Did MacFarlane give them to you?”
“No--a friend,” answered Jack casually, and without betraying a trace of
either excitement or impatience.
“On what?” snapped Breen, something of his old dictatorial manner
asserting itself.
“On my word,” replied Jack, with a note of triumph, which he could not
wholly conceal.
The door opened and the cashier entered. Breen handed him the bonds,
gave instructions about the drawing of the check, and turned to Jack
again. He was still suffering from amazement, the boy's imperturbable
manner being responsible for most of it.
“And does this pay Minott's debts?” he asked in a more conciliatory
tone.
“Every dollar,” replied Jack.
Breen looked up. Where had the boy got this poise and confidence, he
asked himself, as a flush of pride swept through him; after all, Jack
was of his own blood, his brother's son.
“And I suppose now that it's you who will be doing the walking instead
of Minott's creditors?” Breen inquired with a frown that softened into a
smile as he gazed the longer into Jack's calm eyes.
“Yes, for a time,” rejoined Jack in the same even, unhurried voice.
The clerk brought in the slip of paper, passed it to his employer, who
examined it closely, and who then affixed his signature.
“If you get any more of that kind of stuff and want help in the new
work, let me know.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Jack, folding up the precious scrap and slipping
it into his pocket.
Breen waited until Jack had closed the door, pulled from a pigeon-hole
a bundle of papers labelled Maryland Mining Company, touched another
button summoning his stenographer, and said in a low voice to himself:
“Yes, I have it! Something is going on in that ore property. I'll write
and find out.”