"Hello!" cried Harley, wheeling about in his chair, startled by the
sound.
"Oh! It's you, is it?" he added, as he recognized me. "What are you
up to? Come back here. I want to see you."
His manner was cheerful, but I could see that the cheerfulness was
assumed. The color had completely left his cheeks, and great rings
under his eyes betokened weariness of spirit.
"I didn't want to disturb you," said I, returning. "You seem to have
your pen on a clear track, with full steam up."
"I had," he said, quietly. "I was just finishing up that Herring,
Beemer, & Chadwick business."
"Aha!" I cried, grasping his hand and shaking it. "I congratulate
you. Success at last, eh?"
"Well, I've got something done--and that's it," he said, and he
tossed the letter block upon which he had been writing across the
table to me. "Read that, and tell me what you think of it."
I read it over carefully. It was a letter to Messrs. Herring,
Beemer, & Chadwick, in which Stuart asked to be relieved of the
commission he had undertaken:
"I find myself utterly unable to complete the work in the stipulated
time," he wrote, "for reasons entirely beyond my control.
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