The young man glanced sideways at his parent.
“Who will prevent me?”
“I!” roared the elder.
“I believe I am one of the firm,” said Abel, coldly.
“You’d better try it!” said the old man, disregarding Abel’s remark.
Abel was conscious that his father had this game, at least, in his hands. The word of the young man would hardly avail against a simultaneous veto from the parent. No transaction would stand a moment under such circumstances. The young man slowly turned from the door, and fixing his eyes upon his father, advanced toward him with a kind of imperious insolence.
“I should like to understand my position in this house,” said he, with forced calmness.
“Good God! Sir, a bootblack, if I choose!” returned his father, fiercely. “The unluckiest day of my life was when you came in here, Sir. Ever since then the business has been getting more and more complicated, until it is only a question of days how long it can even look respectable. We shall all be beggars in a month. We are ruined. There is no chance,” cried the old man, with a querulous wail through his set teeth. “And you know who has done it all. You know who has brought us all to shame and disgrace—to utter poverty;” and, rising from his chair, the father shook his clenched hands at Abel so furiously that the young man fell back abashed.
“Don’t talk to me, Sir. Don’t dare to say a word,” cried Mr. Newt, in a voice shrill with anger. “All my life has come to nothing. All my sacrifices, my industry, my efforts, are of no use. I am a beggar, Sir; so are you!”
He sank back in his chair and covered his face with his hands. The noise made the old book-keeper outside look in. But it was no new thing. The hot debates of the private room were familiar to his ear. With the silent, sad fidelity of his profession he knew every thing, and was dumb. Not a turn of his face, not a light in his eye, told any tales to the most careful and sagacious inquirer. Within the last few months Mr. Van Boozenberg had grown quite friendly with him. When they met, the President had sought to establish the most familiar intercourse. But he discovered that for the slightest hint of the condition of the Newt business he might as well have asked Boniface himself. Like a mother, who knows the crime her son has committed, and perceives that he can only a little longer hide it, but who, with her heart breaking, still smiles away suspicion, so the faithful accountant, who supposed that the crash was at hand, was as constant and calm as if the business were never before so prosperous.