In commerce, he had merely continued the same species of career; and by virtue of being thoroughly depreciated, and even pitied, by his customers, he had risen in six years from the grade of city insurance solicitor to that of Mr. Starkweather's principal assistant. And now, as casually as he had ever raked in a jack-pot from the bewildered sophomores, he had bought the Starkweather business, and not on a shoestring, either, as Mirabelle had suspected.
He had roomed with Henry at college; he had been his inseparable companion, out of office hours, ever since; he knew him too well to proffer any trite condolence. But his sympathy was firm and warm in his fingers when he shook hands and Henry got the message.
"Thought probably you'd rather not have me at the train," said Standish, "so I didn't come. Right or wrong?"
"Right, Bob.... Allow smoking in your sanctum?"
"Don't allow anybody _not_ to smoke. What are you doing--borrowing or offering?"
Henry glanced at Standish's brand. "Neither one. Every man for himself--and you've got vile taste. Well, I hear you're the big boss around here. Please, mister, gimme a job?"
"Nothing I'd like better," said Standish. "I've got just the thing for you. Sit over on the window-sill and be a lily. Flowers brighten up an office so."
"You basely misjudge me. Didn't you know I'm going to work?"
Standish's eyes were round and guileless. "See any sea-serpents on your way over? I've heard there _are_ such things."
"Fact, though, I am. And you know it, too. I'm hoping it's here."
His friend shook his head. "Not here, Henry."
"No, and I'm sorry. I'd make you clean inkwells and say 'sir,' and you'd get to be almost as democratic as I am.... Haven't you seen Archer?"
"Oh, just squeamish, I suppose. You sort of hate to think of the--cash end of it."
"That's right, too. But as long as you're in the building, you'd better drop in there. From all the talk there is, you've picked up a mystery."
"Not for me to say. Go find out. And say--you and Anna come and dine with me tonight, will you? I just want to have you all to myself. Mind?"
"Good. Seven o'clock. Now get out of here and see Archer. Come back afterwards, if you want to; but do that first."
As if from pressure of business, he projected Henry into the corridor; and then, meditatively, he returned to his desk. Young Mr. Standish had watched his employer very closely, during those last few days, and in witnessing Mr. Starkweather's will, he had sensed, intuitively, that it contained a stick of dynamite for Henry.