“Is that you, Rufus? What are you doing away out here? Jump in! jump in!”
Rufus obeyed, entering the vehicle, and the cabman drove on.
“Where have you been?” demanded the elder Black, as the son settled himself upon the front seat and opposite his father.
“I have spent the day in Canterbury,” returned Rufus sullenly.
“What have you been doing there?”
“Getting drunk,” was the dogged answer.
The young man’s face testified to his truthfulness. His eyes, wild in their glances, were bloodshot and watery, and he had a reckless air, as if he had thrown off all restraints of virtue and decency.
Craven Black experienced a sense of alarm. He began to fear lest his son would defeat all his plans by his obstinacy and recklessness.
“You do not ask me about the girl,” said the father, with more gentleness than was usual to him. “I have seen her.”
“I supposed you had,” was the reply. “I gave you her address.”