"It's bad, and there's no denying that," Mr. Tomkins replied. "But come along and hear what the guv' has to say."
Hal followed the manager to the office and seated himself at the desk beside which his father had taken a place. They looked at each other in the most painful silence. Then Hal stretched out his hand and took his father's.
"I'm sorry, dad," he said. "I've heard all now, and only wish that I could help you."
"There is no help; nothing can mend what has happened," answered Mr. Marchant, in despondent tones. "I have lost everything, and now that you know, I only wish to discuss what is to happen to you. What will you do for a living? For myself, I shall probably remain to conduct the business for the new owner, and, of course, if you wish it, you may also stay."
"It is a difficult question to answer, dad," said Hal. "For the present, at any rate, I shall remain where I am, as if nothing had occurred. Perhaps later on, it will be better for me to go elsewhere."
"I think you are right. Stay where you are for a while, and later I will contrive to get a good post for you. There are reasons why I do not wish you to stay at the foundry longer than can be helped. Now I will go, for I have other matters to attend to."
"Good-by, dad. Don't be too downhearted," said Hal cheerfully. "Remember what you were when you were my age, and you will see that there is no reason why matters should not improve."
"Young men do not feel so acutely as the middle-aged," Mr. Marchant replied. "Nor do the latter set their faces against adversity as easily as they did in their earlier days."
He smiled half tearfully, and, waving his hand, went out into the dense fog.
"It's a bad business—a cruel affair altogether," said Mr. Tomkins, at length. "If the failure had been of his own doing, one might not have felt the same for him. But I know that he has been the most cautious and far-seeing of owners, and his mills have been patterns of well-ordered establishments. But now it is all finished with."