Another well-dressed man--but younger than himself--entered abruptly and stood beside his desk. The Senior Partner looked up from his work, nodded, and smiled. "Good morning, William." "Good morning, Uncle Fred." William was dapper, even more up-to-date in appearance than his uncle. Although more carefully attired, he was not so well dressed. For William's hair was so very smooth, and all that pertained to him so aggressively fresh and clean, his clothes so faultlessly in fit, his cravat, his scarf pin, his hair and his eyes such a pleasing harmony in shade and color as to divert the beholder's attention from his sensible face. In appearance William was unjust to himself, giving the impression, to strangers, of a vain or frivolous person. He was, on the contrary, a very intelligent man. Also, he was good. At the present moment there were signs of suppressed excitement in this cleanest of clean faces. "Well," said the Senior Partner, "out with it." "You remember Cyrus Alton, don't you, Uncle Fred?" "No." "Well, you met him some years ago. It was he who saved me from breaking my neck in the amateur circus at school." "Oh! And he has regretted it ever since?" William smiled. "No, sir. I hope not. But it was a mighty plucky thing to do. I fell from the trapeze and he was on the ground beneath. When he saw me coming, instead of jumping from under, like a sensible boy, he held out his arm to break the fall. It threw his shoulder out of joint, but saved me a broken neck--so we all thought." "Yes, I remember now. It _was_ a plucky thing. It showed courage and presence of mind. How old was he?" "About my age: twelve, I guess, or thirteen." "He certainly played the hero on that day. Has he lived up to it?" "I don't know. I have hardly seen him since we left school. I always liked him. We were great cronies--always together." "Mighty lucky you were together on that occasion. What's his occupation, now?" "Oh, chemistry and electricity. Science generally, I guess. But I don't think the world has been treating him well. His clothes are kind of ancient, and he looks hard up. He lives up in Massachusetts, in some little town or village. It's a dozen years since I have seen him, until he came in, a few minutes ago, with a curious kind of stone. He doesn't know what it is, and wants to find out. Wants us to tell him. It's beyond me, though. Would you mind seeing him just a minute, and looking at it?" "A stone, did you say?" "Yes, sir." "What kind of a stone?" "That's just what he doesn't know, nor I either." "All right, show him in."