This, then, is his father's partner. He is utterly amazed, bewildered. "I heard of your return," he continues. There is something peculiar, as if the man weighed every word. "We have been looking for you," rather dryly. "I hope my delay has not proved injurious to the business," says Grandon, recovering his usual dignity. "I find that I am executor of the estate with my mother, and I suppose some steps are necessary. I shall qualify immediately. In what condition is the business?" "Bad enough," is the reply. "Trade is dull, and I am sorry to say that our new machinery, put in at a great expense, does not work satisfactorily." Floyd is startled at the frankness, as well as the admission. "Where is the other partner, Mr. St. Vincent?" "Out of town somewhere," indifferently. "He holds the patent----" "That we were wild enough to undertake; yes." "My father seemed to have great hopes of it." The high shoulders are shrugged higher. There is something bitter and contemptuous in the man's face, a look that indicates fighting, though what can there be to fight about? The great bell rings out again. Nooning is over, and there are hurrying steps up the wide alleyway. "I wonder," Floyd begins, "if you know where my brother went. He said something about Rockwood,--and was to be back shortly." "If he has gone to Rockwood, I doubt if you see him before mid-afternoon." The sneer is plainly evident here, and Grandon feels some antagonistic blood rise. "I suppose," he continues, in his usual courteous tone, "that it will be best to have a business meeting as soon as possible. I will consult Mr. Connery; an inventory was taken, I suppose." "Yes. It is in his hands." Wilmarth is certainly hard to get on with. To natural brusqueness is added an evident disinclination to discuss the business. Floyd is much too proud to seem curious, though here he has a right to know all, but he feels that he will not be able to make much headway alone. "I think I will return," he says. "If my brother comes in, tell him, if you please, that I have gone home. We have not discussed any business yet, but will begin to-morrow. Good day." He goes back, folds up the papers, and places them carefully in his breast-pocket, takes his hat and walks slowly out, wondering if his father really trusted this man. He inspires Floyd with a deep, inveterate dislike, a curious suspicion before he knows there is anything to suspect. He wishes--ah, at that moment he feels inclined to pay the legacies and his mother's pension, and wash his hands of the other distasteful charge. Then some words of his father's come back: "Remember that Eugene is young and thoughtless, and be patient."