"Why--yes, yes, indeed. That was almost precisely what the doctors told
me I must do. Rest and--ah--good air, you know, and pleasant people. _I_
was very fortunate, really. I am at--ah--Gould's Bluffs, Cape Cod, you
know."

"Yes? Well, he's away out in California or Nevada or thereabouts. His
secretary is with him--Thomas, the fellow he's had so many years; you
remember him. Thomas has gone along to see that the chief--Mr. Cabot,
I mean--doesn't get any business letters or wires or anything of that
sort. He looks out for those that do come, the personal matters."

"Oh! Then perhaps my letter has been forwarded out there. That would
explain why I have received no answer. Yes, of course."

"Sure! Thomas will write you by and by, no doubt. But now that you are
here, why don't you see Barbour? Barbour is in charge of the chief's
outside affairs while Thomas is away. That is, he is in charge of
everything that can be handled here. The most important stuff goes to
Thomas, of course. But come in and see Barbour. Perhaps he can tell you
what you want to know."

Mr. Barbour was a bald-headed, worried-looking little man, who, in the
seclusion of a rear office, sat behind a big desk. Minor introduced
Galusha and Mr. Barbour extended a moist and flabby hand. Minor excused
himself and hastened out to the really important matters of life.
Galusha told Barbour the story of his letter to Cousin Gussie. He did
not tell what was in the letter, further than to say that it was an
inquiry concerning a certain investment security.

Barbour shook his head.

"Everything marked 'Personal' I forward to Thomas," he said. "He'll
write you pretty soon, although I'm pretty sure he won't trouble the
chief with your question. Doctors are mighty strict about that. Nothing
we here can do to help, is there? Perhaps Mr. Minor might answer your
question."

Galusha was thinking of Minor that very moment, but he shook his head.
Martha had asked that no one but Cousin Gussie be told of her trouble.
No, he would wait, at least until he heard from the secretary in the
West.

"Why, thank you, Mr. Barbour," he said, rising. "I--I will wait, I
think."

"All right, sir. Sorry, but you see how it is. Drop in again,
Mr.--er--Barnes. Barnes was the name, wasn't it?"

"Why, not exactly. My name is Bangs, but it really doesn't matter in
the least. Dear me, no. I am a relative of Mr. Cabot's. But that doesn't
matter either. Good-morning, Mr. Barbour."