“I had hoped that the whole of that terrible business had been buried for good.”
“So it has, sir,” grunted Crampton; “but some one or another keeps digging it up again.”
Van Heldre made no reply, so Crampton left the office, sent off a messenger, and returned to find his employer seated with his face buried in his hands, thinking deeply, and heedless of his presence.
“Poor George!” he said aloud. “Poor misguided boy! I wish Crampton had been—”
“I’m back here,” said Crampton.
“Ah! Crampton,” said Van Heldre starting, “sent off the message?”
“Yes, sir, I’ve sent off the message,” said the old man sternly. “Pray finish what you were saying, sir. Never mind my feelings.”
“What I was saying, Crampton? I did not say anything.”
“Oh yes, you did, sir; you wished Crampton had been—what, sir?—buried too, like the trouble?”
“My good fellow—my dear old Crampton! surely I did not say that aloud.”