He drew a check in favor of Arthur Wardlaw, signed it, and left him to fill in the figures.
He then looked at his watch, and remarked they would barely have time to get to the station.
"Good heavens!" cried Arthur; "and I can't go. I must learn the particulars of the loss of the Proserpine, and prepare the statement at once for the underwriters."
"Well, never mind. I can go."
"But what will she think of me? I ought to be the first to welcome her."
"I'll make your excuses."
"No, no; say nothing. After all, it was you who received the telegram, so you naturally meet her; but you will bring her here, father. You won't whisk my darling down to Elmtrees till you have blessed me with the sight of her."
"I will not be so cruel, fond lover," said old Wardlaw, laughing, and took up his hat and gloves to go.
Arthur went to the door with him in great anxiety, lest he should question Burtenshaw. But, peering into the outer office, he observed Burtenshaw was not there. Michael had caught his employer's anxious look and conveyed the banker into the small room where the short-hand writer was at work. But Burtenshaw was one of a struggling firm; to him every minute was an hour. He had sat, fuming with impatience, so long as he heard talking in the inner office; and, the moment it ceased, he took the liberty of coming in; so that he opened the side door just as Wardlaw senior was passing through the center door.
Instantly Wardlaw junior whipped before him, to hide his figure from his retreating father.