WHITEWASH
stepped out, and walked down the marble corridor.
Before the office sign of Courncey & Hall they paused. Mechanically Morton opened the door, and his commanding companion swept by him. With a regal nod to the clerk who advanced to meet them, she handed her card with a request for instant admittance to the senior partner's private office. The sound of her voice was apparently an "Open Sesame," for the ground-glass door at the upper end of the room was opened abruptly by a red-faced little man, who rushed down on her after the manner of an affectionate bulldog, whose exuberant greeting might well be mistaken by the uninitiated for a threatening advance.
"So it's you, is it? Come in, come in, come in!"
He fired the words with inconceivable rapidity, as he wrung first Mrs. Durham's hand, and then his nephew's somewhat reluctant palm.
They filed into the sanctum, and the little millionaire banged the door smartly.
"Sit down, sit down, sit down!" he volleyed. "Don't mind me if I tramp about—nervous,
