Henry colored to the temples at this unexpected proof that she he loved thought of him too.
“Oh, Bayne,” cried the poor young man, almost choking, “I little thought—God bless her!”
“Let us drink her health,” said Bayne, excitedly.
“Ah, that I will!” and this was the first glass Henry drank honestly.
“Now, Little, I'm not doing quite right, you know; but I MUST tell you. When we lost you—you know that set of tools the Union dropped in our yard—well, he sent them to London for yours.”
“That is just like him,” said Henry, bitterly.
“And I'll tell you a good joke; they were in the place when you called, only not unpacked till just before I came away. Returned, sir! with a severe reprimand. 'Wonder you should send us such things as these for carving-tools by Little. If the error is not repaired shall consider ourselves at liberty to communicate direct with that workman.' A regular sugar-plum.”
“Oh, thank you, my kind friend, for telling me. The world isn't all bitterness, after all: a poor fellow gets a sweet drop of friendship now and then.”
“Yes, and a good drop of port now and then, though I say it that shouldn't. Fill up. Well, my boy, Cheetham is in a fine way. I left him walking about the office like a hyena. So now is your time. You can't fight the Trades; but, if Cheetham will go in with you, and I know he will, for he is sorer than you are, you can trick the Trades yet.”
“Ah! tell me how, that is all.”