John Van Heldre sat in his office chair at his table once more after a long and weary absence, and Crampton stood opposite scowling at him.
The old clerk had on one of his most sour looks when Van Heldre raised his eyes from the ledger he was scanning, and he made no remark; but looking up again he saw the scowl apparently intensified.
“What’s the matter, Crampton? Afraid I shall discover that you have been guilty of embezzlement?” said Van Heldre, smiling.
“Not a bit,” said the old clerk, “nor you aren’t either.”
“Then what is the meaning of the black look?”
“Oh, nothing—nothing!”
“Come, out with it, man. What’s the matter?”
“Well, if you must know, sir, I want to know why you can’t keep quiet and get quite well, instead of coming muddling here.”
“Crampton!”
“Well, I must speak, sir. I don’t want you to be laid up again.”