He turned on his heel, he was gone, leaving Mr. Robinson in a white heat of rage and indignation. He had been hearing home-truths for once, and, what was still worse, hearing them in his own domain, the kingdom he had been accustomed to rule with a rod of iron. For a moment he was utterly taken aback, breathless, but lest the contagion should spread self-control and swift action were necessary.
"Let him go, the insolent young beggar!" he muttered; then turning he rang his bell. The office-boy appeared: "Send Mr. Wilson here." There was a notable change in his voice; the bully had gone from it, preparation was being made for the impressive chapel tone.
Mr. Wilson, the head-clerk of the firm, found his chief rather pale and exhausted, leaning back in his chair.
"Sit down, Wilson," he said with unusual urbanity; "I must have a few words with you."
The flattered Wilson obeyed.
"You noticed, I dare say," he continued after a pause, "that young McArthur went out in something of a hurry just now?"
"Yes, sir."
"I am sorry to say that I have been obliged to perform a very painful duty. I will not enter into details. My deep respect for the unfortunate youth's family, and especially the memory of his father—a true Christian, Wilson, one who sleeps in peace—makes me wish that as far as possible this should be kept a profound secret. Of course I have dismissed McArthur. It was a duty, and from duty, however painful, the Christian never shrinks." Mr. Robinson paused to draw his white handkerchief over his brow. The force of habit is strong. He imagined himself for the moment on the platform of a gospel-hall. "If he had been my own son"—Mr. Robinson's face expressed proud consciousness that a Robinson could never demean himself in so mysterious a way—"if he had been my own son I could not have felt the matter more keenly; nor indeed could I have acted differently; the position I hold enforces upon me a certain responsibility. But this is all to no purpose—a few words drawn from me, as I might say, by excess of feeling on this painful occasion. What I particularly wished to say to you, Wilson, is this: it is my desire that no questions shall be asked in the house about this unfortunate boy or his sudden dismissal. You may say, if you like, that he was discontented, tired of the monotony of office-life—anything; my only wish is that he should be shielded from exposure. I would give him a chance of buckling to once more. Heaven grant, if only for his poor mother's sake, that he may see the error of his ways! But we are wasting time over this unhappy youth. Well, human nature is human nature, and my feelings toward him were those of a father. Ah! I remember one thing more. It is my special wish that none of my clerks shall have intercourse of any kind with young McArthur. You will understand me, Wilson. The young man is indignant at discovery—not as yet, I fear, truly penitent. He may wish to injure the firm. We must be on our guard."
Mr. Wilson was clever as a man of business, but he did not possess much penetration. He cherished a blind admiration for his chief, and was quite ready to look upon his every statement as gospel. On this occasion he did not even stop to consider how very vague and guarded was all that Mr Robinson had said about the young man he professed to have dismissed; he was satisfied in his own mind that something dark lay behind these vague phrases, and was ready to help his chief to neutralize the mischief.
"All right, sir," he replied quietly; "I will see to the young fellows, but I scarcely think Mr. McArthur will venture to show his face here. A pity, too—a fine young man, and tolerably smart, his bringing-up considered."