"But—" began Tom, and stopped. He was going to say the engagement was not put off.
"But what?" said his father.
"I don't like to do it," answered Tom. "He will take it for giving in and wanting to make up."
"Leave it to me, then, my boy," returned his father, kindly. "I will manage it. My business is not so very pressing but that I can go if I choose. I will write and say that a change in my plans has put it in my power to be his guest, after all, and that I have persuaded you to put off your engagement and come with me."
"But that would be—would not be true," hesitated Tom.
"Pooh! pooh! I'll take the responsibility of that. Besides, it is true. Your mother will make a perfect spoon of you—with the help of good little Master Simon. Can't I change my plans if I like? We must not offend Boxall. He is a man of mark—and warm. I say nothing about figures—I never tell secrets. I don't even say how many figures. But I know all about it, and venture to say, between father and son, that he is warm, decidedly warm—possibly hot," concluded Mr. Worboise, laughing.
"I don't exactly understand you, sir," said Tom, meditatively.
"You would understand me well enough if you had a mind to business," answered his father.
But what he really meant in his heart was that Mr. Boxall had two daughters, to one of whom it was possible that his son might take a fancy, or rather—to express it in the result, which was all that he looked to—a marriage might be brought about between Tom and Jane or Mary Boxall; in desiring which he thought he knew what he was about, for he was Mr. Boxall's man of business.
"I won't have you offend Mr. Boxall, anyhow," he concluded. "He is your governor."