His caller had risen, rather suddenly for him, and was standing beside the desk.  There was a peculiar expression on his thin face.

“What’s the matter?” demanded Mr. Pulcifer.  Galusha’s gaze was very direct.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he said, quietly.

“Eh?  Say what?  I was just goin’ to say that if Martha Phipps didn’t like waitin’ same as the rest of us she—­”

“Yes, yes,” hastily, “I know.  But I shouldn’t say it, if I were you.”

“You wouldn’t.  Why not, for thunder sakes?”

“Because—­well, I am sure you were speaking hastily—­without thinking.”

“Is that so?” How do you know I wasn’t thinkin’?”

“Because I am sure no one who had stopped to think would send that sort of message to a lady.”

“Humph! . . .  Well, I swear! . . .  Wouldn’t send—­I want to know!”

“Yes—­ah—­and now you do know.  Good-day, Mr. Pulcifer.”

He was at the door when the surprised and, to tell the truth, somewhat disconcerted Horatio called after him.

“Here!  Hold on, Perfessor,” he hailed; “don’t go off mad.  I didn’t mean nothin’.  Er—­er—­say, Perfessor, I don’t know’s there’s any use in your tellin’ Martha what I said about them Development shares bein’ cheap at eighteen.  Of course, that was all—­er—­more or less of a joke, you understand, and—­ Eh?  What say?”

“I said I understood, Mr. Pulcifer.”

“Yes—­er—­yes, yes.  Glad you do; I thought you would.  Now I tell you what to do:  You tell Martha . . . you tell her . . . say, what are you goin’ to tell her?”

“Nothing.  Good-day, Mr. Pulcifer.”

Galusha did not tell Martha of the interview in the real estate dealer’s office, but the recollection of it did not tend to make him more easy in his mind concerning her investment in Wellmouth Development Company.  And, as another week went by and still Cousin Gussie did not reply to the letter of inquiry, his uneasiness grew with his impatience.  Another and more practical person would have called the Boston bankers by telephone, but Galusha did not think of that.  Martha offered no suggestions; her advice was to wait.

“I don’t think we ought to hurry your cousin, Mr. Bangs,” she said.  “He’s probably lookin’ into things, and he’ll write when the time comes.”

Galusha devoutly wished the time would come soon.  He somewhat felt a great responsibility in the matter.  This sense of responsibility caused him to assume more and more optimism as his nervousness increased.  Each day of waiting found him covering his disappointment and anxiety with a more cheerful prophecy.