Foe had taught him cunning.
He bethought him of Renton, an old foreman of his; a highly
intelligent fellow, who had come out to New York, some years before,
to better himself, and had so far succeeded that he now controlled
and practically owned a mammoth furnishing emporium--The Home Circle
Store--in Twenty-Third Street. Farrell was pretty sure of the
address; because Renton, who had long since taken out his papers of
naturalisation, regularly remembered his old employer on Thanksgiving
Day and sent him a report of his prosperity, mixed up with no little
sentiment. To this Farrell had for some years responded with a note
of his good wishes, cordial, but brief and businesslike. Of late,
however, this acknowledgment, though still punctual, had tended to
express itself in the form of a Christmas-card.
Farrell confirmed his recollection of the address by checking it in
the Telephone Book, and paid a call on the Home Circle Store next
afternoon, while Foe was enjoying a siesta in that state of lassitude
which (as I've told you) almost always in one or other of the men
followed their crises of animosity.
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