“Then you knew of this?” said my father, angrily.
“Yes, George, Jack told me that he was going about a fortnight ago.”
“H’m—ha! The young cub doesn’t choose to confide in me. Did he give you any reason for his dismissal?”
“No, I did not think any necessary. Jack has been ill for weeks, and unable to attend to his work. Mr Chillingfleet had naturally to get some one to take his place.”
“Naturally, indeed! That’s all you women know!”
My father began to pace the floor in his indignation.
“Much chance a poor young clerk would have, if just because he was unlucky enough to take fever, he was dismissed from his post. But, of course, people who know nothing jump to conclusions. Now if I had been consulted at the time, as I ought to have been, I might have talked Chillingfleet round, and shown him the enormity of his own proceeding.”
“I don’t think your talking would have had the least effect,” suddenly interrupted George. “If there is a hard old flint in this world, its Chillingfleet. Every one knows his character.” My father frowned at George’s presuming to doubt his powers of eloquence. After a pause, he said, emphatically:
“Your mother has acted in a very foolish way, keeping this affair to herself; but even now it is not too late, and notwithstanding your opinion, George, for which I am much obliged, I shall tackle Chillingfleet in the morning.”
With these last words my father left the room, banging the door noisily after him. My mother looked disturbed, George cross. How little they knew what revelations might reach them, what agony and distress might be theirs through my father’s untimely interference! I felt that I must prevent his having an interview with Mr Chillingfleet at any cost.