He told himself defiantly that everything was before him, but he was deucedly tired, that was all. He would rest thoroughly in the woods, recoup his nerves and then start upon the real adventure. Meanwhile, for the sake of his continued sanity he must put all morbid thoughts of MacWhirter’s nonsense and of Greenlea from his mind.
Yet when he presented himself before Nicholas Langhorne in the latter’s sanctum at a little before noon his haggard face was sufficient excuse for his errand.
“I wanted to know if it would be convenient for me to turn my work over to someone else for the next week or two, Mr. Langhorne,” he began. “I’m not feeling quite up to the mark; thought if I got away for a time——”
“My dear Storm, I was going to suggest it to you myself.” Langhorne waved him to a chair. “I’ve noticed that you were looking badly, and it is natural enough under the circumstances. You really should have taken a good rest at the time—er, a month ago. Arrange for as long a vacation as you need to put yourself in shape again. Sherwood or Bell or any of the minor officials can take over your work.”
Storm flushed in resentment at the unconscious imputation. So that was how his services were regarded by this pompous old idiot! That was how he was appreciated!
“Thank you,” he said stiffly, adding in swift irony: “If you can possibly get along without me I should like to leave town almost immediately.”
Langhorne nodded blandly.
“Just turn over your books to Sherwood to-morrow morning and don’t give another thought to business until you return. Where have you planned to go, my boy?”
The note of personal interest was as unusual as the paternal address, but Storm still glowered.
“Up in the north woods, I think, for some bass fishing. I shall not be gone longer than about ten days.” He rose. “I’m glad you can spare me for I feel about all in.”