Presently, the clunk of heavy feet sounding on the steps, Mr. Felsburg reared himself back in his chair at his desk with an expectant, eager look on his face. In the doorway at the top of the stairs appeared the man for whom he waited--a middle-aged man with slumped shoulders, in worn, soiled garments, and in every line of his harassed face expressing the fact that here stood a failure, mutely craving the pardon of the world for being a failure. The yellow dust of country roads was thick, like powdered sulphur, in the wrinkles of his shoes and the creases of his shabby old coat. He had his hat in his hand. “Good mornin', Mr. Felsburg,” he said. “Morning!” Mr. Felsburg returned the greeting with a sharp and businesslike brevity. He did not invite the caller to seat himself. In the small room there was but one chair--the one that held Mr. Felsburg's short form. So, during the early part of the scene that followed, Albritton continued to stand, while Mr. Felsburg enjoyed the advantage of being seated and at his ease where, without stirring, he might, from beneath his lowered brows, look the other up and down. “I've just come from over at the Commonwealth Bank,” said Albritton, fumbling his hat. “I came in to see about getting an extension on my loans, and Mr. Kivil, over there, said I was to come on over here and talk to you first. He said you wanted to see me 'bout something--if I understood him right.” Mr. Felsburg nodded in affirmation of this, but made no other reply. Albritton, having halted for a moment, went on again: “I suppose you want to talk to me about my affairs, you being a director of the bank?” “And also, furthermore, vice president,” supplemented Mr. Felsburg. “Yes, suh. Just so. And that's what made me suppose--” Mr. Felsburg raised a fat, short hand upon which the biggest, whitest diamond in Red Gravel County glittered. “You should not talk with me as an officer of that bank--if you will be so good, please,” he stated. “You should talk with me now as an individual.” “An individual? I'm afraid I don't understand you, suh.” “Pretty soon you will, Mr. Albritton. This is an individual matter--just between you and me; because I, and not the bank, am the party what holds these here mortgages on your place.” “You hold 'em?” “Sure! I bought both those mortgages off the bank quite some time ago. I own those mortgages--and not anybody else whatsoever.” “But I thought--” “You don't need to think. You need only that you should listen at what I am telling you now. It is me--Herman Felsburg, Esquire, of the Oak Hall Clothing Emporium--to which you owe this money, principal and likewise interest. So we will talk together, man to man, if you please, Mr. Albritton. Do I make myself plain? I do.” The debtor dropped to his side the hand with which he had been rubbing a perplexed forehead. A little gleam, as of hope reawakening, came into his eyes.