“I’ve got to see Mr. Heywood before I go back,” Mr. Schofield remarked. “There’s one or two little matters I want to take up with him.”
Mr. Round’s face darkened.
“You won’t see him to-day,” he said.
“Why not?” questioned Mr. Schofield.
“The fact of the matter is,” said Mr. Round, after a moment’s hesitation, “Heywood hasn’t been at his office for three days.”
“Hum!” said Mr. Schofield, his face darkening too. “Has it got that bad? I’d heard stories, of course, but I’d hoped they were exaggerated.”
“He’s been getting worse and worse, and I don’t believe he’ll hold his job much longer. He may be let down easy, because he’s been a good man—and he’d be a good man yet if he could let drink alone. But it’s getting more and more hold on him all the time. He knows it and is ashamed of it, but he don’t seem to have strength enough to break away from it. It’s too bad.”
“Yes, it is,” agreed Mr. Schofield. “What I hate about it most is the humiliation his daughter must suffer. I don’t know whether you knew her or not—Betty Heywood—but she was a mighty nice girl.”
“No, I didn’t know her,” said Mr. Round. “But she seems to have saved herself. I heard the other day that she was going to get married.”
Allan’s heart bounded suddenly, and his face reddened, but neither of his companions noticed his agitation.