"You don't owe me anything," stated the agent. "I can't take this!"
"What! Pride? Tut-tut."
"Why not?" asked Banneker.
Finding no immediate and appropriate answer to this simple question, Mr.
Vanney stared.
"The company pays me. There's no reason why you should pay me. If
anything, I ought to pay you for what you did at the wreck. But I'm not
proposing to. Of course I'm putting in my report a statement about your
help."
Mr. Vanney's cheek flushed. Was this composed young hireling making
sport of him?
"Tut-tut!" he said again, this time with obvious intent to chide in his
manner. "If I see fit to signify my appreciation--remember, I am old
enough to be your father."
"Then you ought to have better judgment," returned Banneker with such
candor and good-humor that the visitor was fairly discomfited.
An embarrassing silence--embarrassing, that is, to the older man; the
younger seemed not to feel it--was happily interrupted by the advent of
the lily-clad messenger.
Hastily retrieving his yellow-back, which he subjected to some furtive
and occult manipulations, Mr. Vanney, after a few words, took his
departure.
Banneker invited the newcomer to take the chair thus vacated. As he did
so he brushed something to the floor and picked it up.
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