"Our mutual friend Mr. Grayson, of the Exeter Bank, spoke to me
about you, Mr. Morris," said the little man without a trace of
foreign accent and with all the composure of a great banker making
a government loan; rising at the same time, with great dignity
introducing Morris to his brother trustees and then placing him in
the empty seat next his own. After that, and on more than one
occasion, there were three chairs around Peter's blaze, with
Morris in one of them.
All these thoughts coursed through Peter's head as Jack and Cohen
were mounting the three flights of stairs.
"Ah, Isaac," he cried at first sight of his friend, "I just wanted
you to know my boy, Jack Breen, better, and as his legs are
younger than mine, I sent him down instead of going myself--you
don't mind, do you?"
"Mind!--of course I do not mind,--but I do know Mr. Breen. I first
met him many months ago--when your sister was here--and then I
see him going in and out all the time--and--"
"Stop your nonsense, Isaac;--that's not the way to know a man;
that's the way not to know him, but what's more to the point is, I
want Jack to know you.
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