He arose quickly, laughing, and sat down in a chair. "Mr. Jones, will you sit down? I want to talk to you."

"If you will talk business. You were rude to me."

"Perhaps. For my rudeness I apologize. But I was not untruthful. And I wanted to find something out. I found it."

"What?"

"Whether you had any sand in you. You have, and considerable muscle, or knack, as well. I'm not saying you could do it again--"

"Well, what is this all about?"

"Simply this. If I am to manage the business of Grant & Son I shall need legal advice of the highest order, and I want it from a man with red blood in him--I should be afraid of any other advice. What is your price? You understand, you leave this firm and think of nothing, professionally, but what I pay you for."

Mr. Jones had seated himself, and the pugnacious moustache was settling back into a less hostile att.i.tude.

"You are quite serious?"

"Quite. You see, I know nothing about business. It is true I spent some time in my father's office, but I never had much heart for it. I went west to get away from it. Fate has forced it back upon my hands.

Well--I'm not a piker, and I mean to show Fate that I can handle the job. To do so I must have the advice of a man who knows the game. I want a man who can look over a bond issue, or whatever it is, and tell me at a glance whether it's spavined or wind-broken. I want a man who can sense out the legal badger-holes, and who won't let me gallop over a cutbank. I want a man who has not only brains to back up his muscle, but who also has muscle to back up his brains. To be quite frank, I didn't think you were the man. I had no doubt you had the legal ability, or you wouldn't be guiding the affairs of this five-cylinder firm, but I was afraid you didn't have the fight in you. I picked a quarrel with you to find out, and you showed me, for which I am much obliged. By the way, how do you do it?"

Before answering Mr. Jones got up, walked around behind his desk, unlocked a drawer and produced a box of cigars.

"That's a mistake you Westerners make," he remarked, when they had lighted up. "You think the muscle is all out there, just as some Easterners will admit that the brains are all down here. Both are wrong.

Life at a desk calls for an antidote, and two nights a week keep me in form. I wrestled a bit when I was a boy, but I haven't had a chance to try out my skill in a long while. I rather welcomed the opportunity."

"I noticed that. Well--what's she worth?"

Mr. Jones ruminated. "I wouldn't care to break with the firm," he said at length. "There are family ties as well as those of business. A year's leave of absence might be arranged. By that time you would be safe in your saddle. By the way, do you propose to hire all your staff by the same test?"

Grant smiled. "I don't expect to hire any more staff. I presume there is already a complete organization, doubtless making money for me at this very moment. I will not interfere except when necessary, but I want a man like you to tell me when it is necessary."

Terms were agreed upon, and Mr. Jones asked only the remainder of the week to clean up important matters on hand. Telegrams were despatched to Mr. David Barrett, senior, and Mr. David Barrett, junior, and Jones in some way managed to convey the delicate information to young Mr. Barrett that a morning appearance on his part would henceforth be essential.

Grant decided to fill in the interval with a little fishing expedition.

He was determined that he would not so much as call at the office of Grant & Son until Jones could accompany him. "A tenderfoot like me would stampede that bunch in no time," he warned himself.

When he finally did appear at the office he was received with a deference amounting almost to obeisance. Murdoch, the chief clerk, and manager of the business in all but t.i.tle, who had known him in the old days when he had been "Mr. Denny," bore him into the private office which had for so many years been the sacred recess of the senior Grant.

Only big men or trusted employees were in the habit of pa.s.sing those silent green doors.

"Well Murdy, old boy, how goes it?" Grant had said when they met, taking his hand in a husky grip.

"Not so bad, sir; not so bad, considering the shock of the accident, sir. And we are all so glad to see you--we who knew you before, sir."

"Listen, Murdy," said Grant. "What's the idea of all the sirs?"

"Why," said the somewhat abashed official, "you know you are now the head of the firm, sir."

"Quite so. Because a chauffeur neglected to look over his shoulder I am converted from a cow puncher to a sir. Well, go easy on it. If a man has native dignity in him he doesn't need it piled on from outside."

"Very true, sir. I hope you will be comfortable here. Some memorable matters have been transacted within these walls, sir. Let me take your hat and cane."

"Cane? What cane?"

"Your stick, sir; didn't you have a stick?"

"What for? Have you rattlers here? Oh, I see--more dignity. No, I don't carry a stick. Perhaps when I'm old--"

"You'll have to try and accommodate yourself to our manners," said Jones, when Murdoch had left the room. "They may seem unnecessary, or even absurd, but they are sanctioned by custom, and, you know, civilization is built on custom. The poet speaks of a freedom which 'slowly broadens down from precedent to precedent.' Precedent is custom.

Never defy custom, or you will find her your master. Humor her, and she will be your slave. Now I think I shall leave, while you try and tune yourself to the atmosphere of these surroundings. I need hardly warn you that the furniture is--quite valuable."

Grant saw him out with a friendly grip on his arm. "You will need another course of wrestling lessons presently," he warned him.

So this was the room which had been the inner shrine of the firm of Grant & Son. The quarters were new since he had left the East; the furnishings revealed that large simplicity which is elegance and wealth.

A painting of the elder Grant hung from the wall; Dennison stood before it, looking into the sad, capable, grey eyes. What had life brought to his father that was worth the price those eyes reflected? Dennison found his own eyes moistening with memories now strangely poignant....

"Environment," the young man murmured, as he turned from the portrait, "environment, master of everything! And yet--"

A photograph of Roy stood on the mantelpiece, and beside it, in a little silver frame, was one of his mother.... Grant pulled himself together and fell to an examination of the papers in his father's desk.

CHAPTER XII

Grant's first concern was to get a grasp of the business affairs which had so unexpectedly come under his direction. To accomplish this he continued the practice of the Landson ranch; he was up every morning at five, and had done a day's work before the members of his staff began to a.s.semble. For advice he turned to Jones and Murdoch, and the management of routine affairs he left entirely in the hands of the latter. He had soon convinced himself that the camaraderie of the ranch would not work in a staff of this kind, so while he was formulating plans of his own he left the administration to Murdoch. He found this absence of companionship the most unpleasant feature of his position; it seemed that his wealth had elevated him out of the human family. He wavered between amus.e.m.e.nt and annoyance over the deference that was paid him.

Some of the staff were openly terrified at his approach.

Not so Miss Bruce. Miss Bruce had tapped on the door and entered with the words, "I was your father's stenographer. He left practically all his personal correspondence to me. I worked at this desk in the corner, and had a private office through the door there into which I slipped when my absence was preferred."

She had crossed the room, and, instead of standing respectfully before Grant's desk, had come around the end of it. Grant looked up with some surprise, and noted that her features were not without commending qualities. The mouth, a little large, perhaps--

"How do you think you're going to like your job?" she asked.

Grant swung around quickly in his chair. No one in the staff had spoken to him like that; Murdoch himself would not have dared address him in so familiar a manner. He decided to take a firm position.

"Were you in the habit of speaking to my father like that?"

"Your father was a man well on in years, Mr. Grant. Every man according to his age."

"I am the head of the firm."

"That is so," she a.s.sented. "But if it were not for me and the others on your pay roll there would be no firm to require a head, and you'd be out of a job. You see, we are quite as essential to you as you are to us."

Grant looked at her keenly. Whatever her words, he had to admit that her tone was not impertinent. She had a manner of stating a fact, rather than engaging in an argument. There was nothing hostile about her. She had voiced these sentiments in as matter-of-fact a way as if she were saying, "It's raining out; you had better take your umbrella."

"You appear to be a very advanced young woman," he remarked. "I am a little surprised--I had hardly thought my father would select young women of your type as his confidential secretaries."

"Private stenographer," she corrected. "A little extra side on a t.i.tle is neither here nor there. Well, I will admit that I rather took your father's breath at times; he discharged me so often it became a habit, but we grew to have a sort of tacit understanding that that was just his way of blowing off steam. You see, I did his work, and I did it right.

I never lost my head when he got into a temper; I could always read my notes even after he had spent most of the day in death grips with some business rival. You see, I wasn't afraid of him, not the least bit. And I'm not afraid of you."