"I did, Graydon. Forgive me. It was just a loan, you know. I thought
you'd need something--"

"I haven't touched it, Elias. Here it is. Thank you. No, I won't
accept it."

"I'm sorry," muttered the old man, taking the slip of paper.

Graydon resumed his seat near the window and watched Droom with
leaden eyes as he turned suddenly to resume charge of the packing.
"We'll soon be through," he said shortly.

For an hour the work went on, and then Droom dismissed the workers
with their pay. The storage van men were there to carry the boxes
away. Graydon sat still and saw the offices divested. Secondhand
dealers hurried off with the furniture, the pictures and the rugs;
an expressman came in for the things that belonged to Elias Droom.

"There," said the clerk, tossing the umbrella into a corner. "It's
finished. There's nothing left to do but remove ourselves."

"Elias, did Mr. Clegg know about father's conviction when he offered
me the place in New York?" asked Graydon as they started away.

"Yes, that's the beauty of it. He admires you. You'll take the
place?"

"Not until I've talked it all over with him--to-morrow."