“No, sir.  I shall go right to work; and perhaps you will speak to some of your friends, and give me some names.”

“Certainly.  Come in again pretty soon; will you?”

Crombie saw that he had a good foundation to build upon already.  Blatchford was not popular, even among the other directors; and sundry stockholders, as well as people having business with the company, had conceived a strong dislike of him on account of his overbearing manners.  Therefore it would not be hard to enlist sympathy for a movement obnoxious to him.  But it was imperative that the self-nominated candidate should acquire more of the stock; and to do this capital must be had.  Crombie did not see quite how it was to be got; he had no sufficient influence with the bankers.

The afternoon was nearly spent, and he trudged uptown, thinking of the ways and means.  But though the problem was far from solved, he still continued in a state of extraordinary buoyancy.  Those shoes, those shoes!  He was so much impressed by their comfort and the service they had done him in making a good appearance that he resolved to get a new pair of his own.  He stopped and bought them; then kept on toward The Lorne, carrying his purchase under his arm without embarrassment.  The cold drizzle had ceased, and the sunset came out clear and golden, dipping its bright darts into the shallow pools of wet on the pavement, and somehow mingling with his financial dreams a dream of that fair hair that gave a glory to Miss Blanche’s face.

On regaining his modest apartment he sent for the boot-boy, and inquired the whereabouts of his missing shoes.

“Couldn’t tell you, sir,” said the servant.  “Pretty near all the men’s boots in the house has gone out, you see, and they’ll only be coming back just about now.  I’ll look out for ’em, sir, and nab ’em as soon as they show up.”

“All right.  Whose are these that I’ve been wearing?”

The boy took them, turned them over, and examined them with the eye of a connoisseur in every part.  “Them?  I should say, sir, them was Mr. Littimer’s.”

Crombie blushed with mortification.  Of all the dwellers in The Lorne, this was the very one with whom it was the most embarrassing to have such a complication occur; and yet, strange inconsistency! he had been longing for any accident, no matter how absurd or fantastic, that could bring him some chance of an acquaintance with Blanche.

“Take these boots, dry them right away, and give ’em a shine.  Then carry them up to Mr. Littimer’s rooms.”  He gave the boy a quarter:  he was becoming reckless.