Mr. Broad went round the shop, turned down the lights, except the one over the desk, and went out, saying,—
"If I am not here by half-past nine, turn the gas off at the meter, lock the door, and bring the keys to my house. Most likely though I shall be back."
"Yes, sir," said Jim, who earnestly hoped he would.
"Upon my word," muttered Mr. Broad to himself, as he stepped into the street, "this business is horrible. I feel almost as if I were committing some terrible crime. But, after all, it will be a warning to him. Some men would have him packed off to jail, and then he could never hold his head up again."
He pulled out his watch and looked at the time.
"I'll just run down and have a gossip at the club," said he. "I feel as nervous as if I had robbed the till myself.—-Bless my soul, boy, why don't you look where you are going?"
"Awfully sorry, sir," said the boy, who was no other than our lively friend, Dick Boden. "I hope you aren't hurt?"
"No; but you startled me. You might have been a policeman, you know, or—or—Dear me, my nerves are in an extraordinary state!"
"Funny old gent," thought Dick; and then, stealing a second look at him, he said to himself, "Why, it's Mr. Broad. It's no use waiting for Jim, then. He has to mind the shop."
Remembering that it was early closing day, he had run up directly his lessons were finished, thinking he might catch Jim and induce him to go for a good game. He went very rarely now, but he had not quite abandoned the hope of rescuing Jim from the clutches of his new friends, who, according to some of the boys, were doing him more harm than good. Indeed, there were some curious tales floating about which made Dick extremely anxious on his friend's account.