ing or benevolent sentences; these, with appropriate
religious sentiments, formed nine-tenths of his discourse,
through which the rare words that revealed
his purposes, his desires, flashed like slender and
ruthless knives.

He was bending over a tall, narrow ledger when
Gordon entered the office; but he immediately closed
the book and swung about in his chair. The small
enclosure was hot, and filled with the odor of scorching
metal, the buzzing of a large, blundering fly.

"Ah!" Valentine Simmons exclaimed pleasantly;
"our link with the outer world, our faithful messenger...
I wanted to see you; ah, yes." He
turned over the pages of a second, heavier ledger
at his hand. "Here it is -- Gordon Makimmon,
good Scotch Presbyterian name. Five hundred and
thirty dollars," he said suddenly, unexpectedly.

Gordon was unable to credit his senses, the fact
that this was the sum of his indebtedness; it was an
absurd mistake, and he said so.

"Everything listed against its date," the other returned
imperturbably, "down to a pair of white buck
shoes for a lady today -- a generous present for some
enslaver."

"My sister," Gordon muttered ineptly. Five
hundred and thirty dollars, he repeated incredulously
to himself. Five hundred... "How long
has it been standing?" he asked.

[[41]]

p040 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p041w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p042

v?