Guy Hammersley; or, Clearing his Name — page 62: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

GUY HAMMERSLEY. 53 his knee, while the other was rubbed reflectively across his smooth-shaven chin. ‘*Ah—um,” he murmured. ‘‘What are the ac- complishments of your son? Er—has he inherited any of your talent in the musical line?” Again that strange look came over the mother’s face, but, as before, it vanished in an instant, and she was smiling as she replied to the colonel’s ques- tion: ‘‘ No, Guy is not musical except in the sense that he loves to listen to fine performers ; he does not even play the banjo. His only accomplishment, so far as I am aware, is in the line of keeping accounts. Is your business staff full?” ‘‘Well,” rejoined the colonel, ‘‘ you know the man- agement of a concert troupe is not such an onerous affair as that of an opera company would be; but if your'son would consent to accept a small salary, I think I could fix matters. If—for instance—he wouldn’t mind taking tickets—I can offer him six dollars a week.” “Very good; we will close with that, then,” in- terposed Mrs. Hammersley, in the tone of one who wished that the interview should be ended. ‘‘Excellent, madam,” exclaimed the colonel, rising with cheerful alacrity. ‘‘ You have removed a great weight from my heart; that weight the fear that I could not secure you. Now if you will only sign your name to this brief screed, I can go on my way rejoicing.” As he spoke, the colonel took a sheet of foolscap, pretty well filled with writing, from his pocket, and handed it, with a fountain pen, to Mrs. Hammersley. (ECOAMUCE JOO cS