“Ah, but how is any one to know whether she does or not?”

“Of course no one can tell what she thinks, but it is reasonable to suppose that she would like to see her sister.”

“Oh, yes, it is reasonable to suppose almost anything when you start out on that line; but it’s not common sense to act upon almost any supposition.  Of course, the old lady can live but a short time, and I think that if she were given her own choice she would prefer to die in her own bed.  I shall advise Brooks not to let her go.”

“I hope you’ll not do that,” said Henry, and he spoke with an eagerness that caused the merchant to give him a look of sharp inquiry.  “I hope that you’ll not seek to deprive the sister, who I presume is a very old woman, of the pleasure of sheltering one so closely related to her.  The trip may be fatal, and yet it might be a benefit.  At any rate don’t advise Brooks not to let her go.”

“Oh, it’s nothing to me,” Witherspoon replied, “and I didn’t suppose that it was so much to the rest of you.  How I do miss that old man!” he added after musing for a few moments.  “The peculiar laugh he had when pleased became a very distressing cough whenever he fancied that his expenses were running too high, and every day I am startled by some noise that sounds like his hack, hack!  And just as frequently I hear his good-humored ha, ha!  He had never gone away during the summer, but he told me that this summer he was going to a watering-place and enjoy himself.  ‘And, Witherspoon,’ he said, ’I’m going to spend money right and left.’  Picture that old man spending money either right or left.  He would have backed out when the time came.  Some demand would have kept him at home.”

“His will leaves everything to his wife, I believe,” Henry remarked.

“Yes, with the proviso that at her death it is to go to Mrs. Brooks.  Brooks has already taken Colton’s place in the store, and now the question is, Who can fill Brooks’ place?”

“I don’t think you will have any trouble in filling it,” Henry replied.  “No matter who drops out, the affairs of this life go on just the same.  A man becomes so identified with a business that people think it couldn’t be run without him.  He dies, and the business—­improves.”

“Yes, it appears so,” Witherspoon admitted; “but what I wanted to get at, coming straight to the point, is this:  I need you now more than ever before.  One of the penalties of wealth is that a rich man is forced constantly to fumble about in the dark, feeling for some one whose touch may inspire confidence.  That’s the position I’m in.”

“You make a strong appeal,” said Henry, “far stronger than any personal advantages you could point out to me.”

“But is it strong enough to move you?”