construction company occupies the top
floor."

"Very good," replied Warrington, paying and discharging the man.

From a reliquary of the Dutch, an affair of red-brick, four stories
high, this monolith had sprung. With a sigh Warrington entered the
cavernous door-way and stepped into an "express-elevator." When the
car arrived at the twenty-second story, Warrington was alone. He
paused before the door of the vice-president. He recalled the "old
man," thin-lipped, blue-eyed, eruptive. It was all very strange, this
request to make the restitution in person. Well he would soon learn
why.

He drew the certified check from his wallet and scrutinized it
carefully. Twelve thousand, eight hundred dollars. He replaced it,
opened the door, and walked in. A boy met him at the railing and
briskly inquired his business.

"I wish to see Mr. Elmore."

"Your card."

Card? Warrington had not possessed such a thing in years. "I have no
cards with me. But I have an appointment with Mr. Elmore. Tell him
that Mr. Ellison is here."

The boy returned promptly and signified that Mr. Elmore was at liberty.
But it was not the "old man" who looked up from a busy man's desk. It
was the son: so far, the one familiar face Warrington had seen since
his arrival. There was no hand-shaking; there was nothing in evidence
on either side to invite it.

"Ah! Sit down, Paul. Let no one disturb me for an hour," the young
vice-president advised the boy. "And close the door as you go out."

Warrington sat down; the bridge-builder whirled his chair around and
stared at his visitor, not insolently, but with kindly curiosity.

"You've filled out," was all he said. After fully satisfying his eyes,
he added: "I dare say you expected to find father. He's been gone six
years," indicating one of the two portraits over his desk.

It was not at the "old man" Warrington looked longest. "Who is the
other?" he asked.

"What? You worked four years with this company and don't recollect
that portrait?"

"Frankly, I never noticed it before." Warrington placed the certified
check on the desk. "With interest," he said.

The vice-president crackled it, ran his fingers over his smooth chin,
folded the check and extended it toward the astonished wanderer.

"We don't want that, Paul. What we wanted was to get you back. There
was no other way. Your brother made up the loss the day after
you . . . went away. There was no scandal. Only a