The old gentleman came into the shop, and nodded towards Mattie standing in the doorway.
"Has my boy come home?" he asked.
"Not yet, sir."
The father's countenance assumed a doleful expression on the instant—life without his boy was scarcely worth having.
"He's very late, then, for I'm late," looking at his watch; "I hope he hasn't been run over."
Mattie laughed at the expression of the father's fear.
"That's not likely, sir."
"People do get run over at times, especially in the City, and more especially near-sighted people. There's nothing to laugh at."
And rather offended at the manner in which his gloomy suggestion had been received, Mr. Hinchford senior passed through the side door into the passage. Mattie found Harriet at the desk again, picking out several sheets of paper saturated with ink, and arranging them of a row on the fender.
"More ink, dear—more ink!" she cried, impetuously; "I've thought of what to say. Don't keep me long without the ink."