Mr. Mowbray had aged of late, but with his white, waving hair and fine features was still a handsome man. Old-fashioned clients, shaking their heads, had gone elsewhere. But new business had come to the firm. Anthony had taken his employer for a walk one summer's evening along the river's bank, and had talked him into the idea of turning Millsborough into a seaport town. "It could be done, with money." The river could be widened, deepened; locks could be built. The traffic from the valley that now went north or south could be retained for Millsborough. The marvel was that nobody had ever thought of it before.
"We've all been asleep here for the last quarter of a century," Mr. Mowbray said, laying his arm affectionately on Anthony's shoulder. "You'll wake us up."
Engineers had been consulted and had sent in their reports. The scheme was practicable; Mowbray and Cousins was still a name to conjure with in business circles. The enterprise had been launched, had forced its way by its sheer merit. Not only could a handsome dividend be safely reckoned on; it would be of enormous benefit to Millsborough as a whole.
"Mowbray's coming back," they said in Millsborough.
