"I SAY, young man, what do you mean by this; coming along the street at the pace of a steam-engine? I've a good mind to call the police."
Arthur had collided with an elderly gentleman at the corner of the street, nearly knocking him down, and had paused in his onward career to make sure that he had not hurt him.
"I am very sorry, sir," he said, as soon as he could get his breath, for the run and the sudden collision had made him stagger as well as his victim. "I hope you are not hurt?" he added.
"I—I think I know your voice," said the gentleman, placing his hand on Arthur's shoulder and peering into his face. "Isn't your name Murray?" he asked the next moment.
"Oh, yes! And you are Mr. Andrews, who always managed Papa's affairs?"
"Well, as much as he would let me," said the lawyer.
"Perhaps you would not mind helping me to decide about something," said the lad eagerly. "Girls don't know much about such things, and my Mother doesn't care about anything but Persian cats."
There was a bitterness in his tone as he said this that did not escape the notice of the lawyer, but he made no comment beyond saying: "Tell me facts, the facts of the case you want me to advise upon."
"Well, sir, you know I must get a situation of some sort; our money has nearly all gone, and I want to help my sisters, of course."
"The money went years ago," muttered the old gentleman under his breath, but not so low that Arthur did not catch the words, and he paused a minute to think of their import before he added: "Mr. Brading at the 'Great Emporium' has offered me a situation in his counting-house."