"This is Mr. Evan Blount," said the clerk, indicating the young man who
came up with the returning bell-boy. "Mr. Blount, this is Mr. Hardwick
McVickar, first vice-president of the Transcontinental Railway Company."
There was no trace of the recent battle in Mr. McVickar's voice or
manner when he shook hands cordially with the son of the man who had so
lately defied him.
"Your father and I were just now holding a little conference over your
future prospects, Mr. Blount," he said, going straight to his point.
"Suppose you come down to the car with me for a private talk on legal
matters. I'm inclined to think that we shall wish to retain you in a
cause which is coming up in September. Gantry tells me that you are
pretty well up in corporation law. Can you spare me a half-hour or so?"
Evan Blount glanced at the big clock over the clerk's head. Patricia had
told him that she and her father would dine in the _cafe_ at seven, and
that there would be a place at their table for him--and another for his
father, if the ex-senator would so far honor a poor college professor.
There was an hour to spare; and if the vice-president of the
Transcontinental was not the king, he was at least a great man, and one
whose invitation was in some sense a royal command.
"Certainly, I'll be glad to go with you," was Blount's acquiescent
rejoinder.
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