And then there was one other, which closed the play late on Saturday evening;—
Brown, Jones, and Robinson beg to assure the public that they shall be put out of all suspense early on Monday morning.
"And what shall we really say to them on Monday?" asked Mr. Jones.
"Nothing at all," replied Mr. Robinson. "The thing will be dead by that time. If they call, say that he's in Canada."
"And won't there be any more about it?"
"Nothing, I should think. We, however, have gained our object. The house will be remembered, and so will the name of Brown, Jones, and Robinson."
And it was so. When the Monday morning came the windows were without special notices, and the world walked by in silence, as though Johnson of Manchester had never existed. Some few eager inquirers called at the shop, but they were answered easily; and before the afternoon the name had almost died away behind the counters. "I knew I was right," said Miss Glassbrook, and Mr. Jones heard her say so.
In and about the shop Johnson of Manchester was heard of no more, but in Mr. Brown's own family there was still a certain interest attached to the name. How it came about that this was so, shall be told in the next chapter.