He
introduced Mrs. Remsen to them, and held them for some moments in
conversation. When they got into their motor, Mrs. Remsen said:

"Is that little man afraid of you, Oliver? He looked like a scared
rabbit."

Oliver snapped the door, and said with a shade of irritation:

"I don't know what's the matter with him. He's the fellow I've told
you about who never takes a vacation. I half believe it's his wife.
She looks pitiless enough for anything."

"She's very pretty of her kind," mused Mrs. Remsen, "but rather
chilling. One can see that she has ideas about elegance."

"Rather unfortunate ones for a bookkeeper's wife. I surmise that
Percy felt she was overdressed, and that made him awkward with me.
I've always suspected that fellow of good taste."

After that, when Remsen passed the counting-room and saw Percy
screwed up over his ledger, he often remembered Mrs. Bixby, with her
cold, pale eyes and long lashes, and her expression that was
something between indifference and discontent. She rose behind
Percy's bent shoulders like an apparition.

One spring afternoon Remsen was closeted in his private office with
his lawyer until a late hour. As he came down the long hall in the
dusk he glanced through the glass partition into the counting-room,
and saw Percy Bixby huddled up on his tall stool, though it was too
dark to work. Indeed, Bixby's ledger was closed, and he sat with his
two arms resting on the brown cover. He did not move a muscle when
young Remsen entered.

"You are late, Bixby, and so am I," Oliver began genially as he
crossed to the front of the room and looked out at the lighted
windows of other tall buildings. "The fact is, I've been doing
something that men have a foolish way of putting off. I've been
making my will."

"Yes, sir." Percy brought it out with a deep breath.

"Glad to be through with it," Oliver went on. "Mr. Melton will bring
the paper back to-morrow, and I'd like to ask you to be one of the
witnesses."

"I'd be very proud, Mr. Remsen."

"Thank you, Bixby. Good night." Remsen took up his hat just as Percy
slid down from his stool.

"Mr. Remsen, I'm told you're going to have the books gone over."

"Why, yes, Bixby. Don't let that trouble you. I'm taking in a new
partner, you know, an old college friend. Just because he is a
friend, I insist upon all the usual formalities. But it is a
formality, and I'll guarantee the expert won't make a scratch on
your books. Good night. You'd