“Why, for want of anything more lively to do. And this is what that unfortunate Masters has to grind at!” continued Jack in an audible soliloquy. Davis caught at the name.
“The fact is, Mr Ibbetson,” he said, looking grave, “we’re in great perplexity about Mr Masters.”
“What’s happened?”
“He hasn’t turned up to-day at all.”
“Ill, I suppose,” said Jack.
“Well, sir, not at his lodgings. I sent a boy off and I find he has not been there since leaving this at the usual hour yesterday. Then he was in good health, to all appearance. I can’t help fearing there’s something wrong.”
“Good Heavens, Davis, what can be wrong?” said Ibbetson hastily.
“The young man has not been himself for some time, and perhaps that makes me nervous,” said the old man with a deliberation which tried his companion’s patience. “Besides, if you know him, Mr John, you are aware that there has been an unpleasantness about a money matter. It always is love or money with those young fellows. He got into debt, borrowed from one of those rascally money-lenders, giving him a promissory note, and when the time came had nothing to meet it. I believe it was a small sum, and it’s not such an uncommon story, but a bad one to get to the ears of the principals, and somehow or other, I’m sure I don’t know how, that is what happened here.”
“Ah, I see,” said Ibbetson.
“The consequence is that they have looked coldly on him ever since, and you’ll understand, Mr John, that others who would not be shocked on their own account will follow the heads, if only to curry favour. I’ve been quite surprised, I declare, to see how many know it. And I can’t help feeling sorry for the poor lad, wrong as he has been, for he seems to take it to heart terribly.”