“I’ll answer for that boy’s truth with my life!” said Mr. Brownlow, knocking the table.
“And I for his falsehood with my head!” rejoined Mr. Grimwig, knocking the table also.
“We shall see,” said Mr. Brownlow, checking his rising anger.
“We will,” replied Mr. Grimwig, with a provoking smile; “we will.”
As fate would have it, Mrs. Bedwin chanced to bring in, at this moment, a small parcel of books, which Mr. Brownlow had that morning purchased of the identical bookstall-keeper, who has already figured in this history; having laid them on the table, she prepared to leave the room.
“Stop the boy, Mrs. Bedwin!” said Mr. Brownlow; “there is something to go back.”
“He has gone, sir,” replied Mrs. Bedwin.
“Call after him,” said Mr. Brownlow; “it’s particular. He is a poor man, and they are not paid for. There are some books to be taken back, too.”
The street-door was opened. Oliver ran one way; and the girl ran another; and Mrs. Bedwin stood on the step and screamed for the boy; but there was no boy in sight. Oliver and the girl returned, in a breathless state, to report that there were no tidings of him.
“Dear me, I am very sorry for that,” exclaimed Mr. Brownlow; “I particularly wished those books to be returned tonight.”