"Why?" demanded Breen bluntly.
"I have sold it to Mr. Robert Guthrie."
"Guthrie! The devil you say!--When?"
"To-day. The final papers are signed to-morrow. Excuse me, I must
catch my boat--" and away he went, his cup now brimming over,
leaving Breen biting his lips and muttering to himself as he gazed
after him.
"Guthrie!--My customer! Damn that boy--I might have known he would
land on his feet."
But Jack kept on home to his sweetheart, most of the way in the
air.
Down in the little room all this time in the rear of the tailor's
shop the two old men sat talking. Peter kept nothing back; his
lips quivering again and another unbidden tear peeping over the
edge of his eyelid when he told of Jack's offer.
"A dear boy, Isaac--yes, a dear boy. He never thinks with his
head--only with his heart. Never has since I knew him. Impulsive,
emotional, unpractical, no doubt--and yet somehow he always wins.
Queer--very queer! He comes upstairs to me and I start out on a
fool's errand. He goes down to you, and you hand him out your
money.
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