“Johnson?” said Dick in surprise, and hurried to the dining-room, into which the visitor had been ushered.
It was, indeed, “the philosopher,” though Mr. Johnson lacked for the moment evidence of that equilibrium which is the chiefest of his possessions. The stout man was worried; his face was unusually long; and when Dick went into the room, he was sitting uncomfortably on the edge of a chair, as he had seen him sitting at Heron’s Club, his gloomy eyes fixed upon the carpet.
“I hope you’ll forgive me for coming to see you, Captain Gordon,” he said. “I’ve really no right to bring my troubles to you.”
“I hope your troubles aren’t as pressing as mine,” smiled Dick as he shook hands. “You know Mr. Elk?”
“Mr. Elk is an old friend,” said Johnson, almost cheerful for a second.
“Well, what is your kick?—sit down, won’t you?” said Dick. “I’m going to have a real breakfast. Will you join me?”
“With pleasure, sir. I’ve eaten nothing this morning. I usually have a little lunch about eleven, but I can’t say that I feel very hungry. The fact is, Captain Gordon, I’m fired.”
Dick raised his eyebrows.
“What—has Maitland fired you?”
Johnson nodded.