"Not a word to any one, mind," said Joseph Fairbrother, as Parrott prepared to depart. "Just put yourself in training, that's all. Send Mr. Busby to me."
The head clerk departed, and a few minutes later Busby came in.
Albert Busby was the firm's cashier, one of the oldest of the staff, yet still a young man, being under forty. In appearance he was the most pious of black-haired Sunday School teachers; in reality it was difficult to get a word of truth from his lips. Lying was not part of his business, but distinctly a hobby, and it came as naturally to him as if he had been taught from birth.
Old Fairbrother offered Busby a cigar, then delineated his character in the same way as he had done that of Parrott A legacy of £500 a year awaited Busby if he chose to give up his habit of lying and stick to the truth. Of course, Busby readily consented. He said for the future no lie should ever pass his lips.
"You'll lose the money if it does," said "Old Joe," laconically.
The third and last man to be interviewed was Gray—Jimmy Gray, the accountant. Gray's face told its own tale, and those who couldn't read it had only to note Gray's movements, which were too often in the direction of a public-house.
The drink habit had Gray fairly in its toils, but he was willing to give it up for £500 a year, and he honestly believed he could.
When "Old Joe" stood alone once more, he took another long look at the fire. Then he gave a sigh, a smile, a shrug of the shoulders, and ended by putting on his hat and departing.
As soon as he was safely out of earshot, George Early stretched himself and walked thoughtfully into the middle of the big room.
Having arrived there, he gave voice to three words, audibly and distinctly: "Well, I'm hanged!"