But, after all, he had been his brother, and if he had been in Robert's place at the time, he would not have done as he had done; at least he hoped not.
Now Robert wanted to see him.
He thought once of not answering at all.
Then he thought he would write and say no.
But a curious desire to see Robert again, to hear what he had to say, to listen to the proposition he had to offer, came over him; he decided to write yes.
It could do no harm.
He knew it could do no good.
They might agree to let by-gones be by-gones, but the damage had been done.
Could a broken bowl be mended and called whole?
It might be called whole, but what of it? Was it not broken and mended?
He wrote and intimated that he would come.
On the Thursday in question Robert called up from the Auditorium to remind him of the engagement. Lester listened curiously to the sound of his voice.
"All right," he said, "I'll be with you."
At noon he went down-town, and there, within the exclusive precincts of the Union Club, the two brothers met and looked at each other again.
Robert was thinner than when Lester had seen him last, and a little grayer.
His eyes were bright and steely, but there were crow's-feet on either side.
His manner was quick, keen, dynamic.
Lester was noticeably of another type—solid, brusque, and indifferent.
Men spoke of Lester these days as a little hard.
Robert's keen blue eyes did not disturb him in the least—did not affect him in any way.
He saw his brother just as he was, for he had the larger philosophic and interpretative insight; but Robert could not place Lester exactly. He could not fathom just what had happened to him in these years.
Lester was stouter, not gray, for some reason, but sandy and ruddy, looking like a man who was fairly well satisfied to take life as he found it.
Lester looked at his brother with a keen, steady eye. The latter shifted a little, for he was restless. He could see that there was no loss of that mental force and courage which had always been predominant characteristics in Lester's make-up.
"I thought I'd like to see you again, Lester," Robert remarked, after they had clasped hands in the customary grip.
"It's been a long time now—nearly eight years, hasn't it?"
"About that," replied Lester.
"How are things with you?"
"Oh, about the same.
You've been fairly well, I see."
"Never sick," said Lester. "A little cold now and then.
I don't often go to bed with anything.
How's your wife?"
"Oh, Margaret's fine."
"And the children?"
"We don't see much of Ralph and Berenice since they married, but the others are around more or less.
I suppose your wife is all right," he said hesitatingly. It was difficult ground for Robert.
Lester eyed him without a change of expression.
"Yes," he replied.
"She enjoys pretty fair health.
She's quite well at present."
They drifted mentally for a few moments, while Lester inquired after the business, and Amy, Louise, and Imogene. He admitted frankly that he neither saw nor heard from them nowadays.
Robert told him what he could.
"The thing that I was thinking of in connection with you, Lester," said Robert finally, "is this matter of the Western Crucible Steel Company.
You haven't been sitting there as a director in person I notice, but your attorney, Watson, has been acting for you. Clever man, that.
The management isn't right—we all know that.
We need a practical steel man at the head of it, if the thing is ever going to pay properly.
I have voted my stock with yours right along because the propositions made by Watson have been right.
He agrees with me that things ought to be changed.
Now I have a chance to buy seventy shares held by Rossiter's widow.
That with yours and mine would give us control of the company.