"I did not stay late—and I am an abstainer," said Reggie, wishing his visitor would depart. He glanced at the pile of unopened letters he had brought back with him, and Mr. Bowles intercepted the glance.
"Well! well!" said he, "that's a good hearing, my boy, and I see you are wishing I'd be off and let you get at your work. Industry is of the utmost importance, my lad, and you'll rise to be Manager, one day! Tell Mr. Gray I need not see him till next week as he left such a capable second. Good morning."
That was over. Reggie saw him out, opened the letters, and went through the usual routine of his morning work, and welcomed back his fellow clerk who had been away for the Easter. The clock ticked peacefully on, till it was past noon, and then at last the swing doors opened once more to admit the Manager.
He passed straight through to his room, closing the door behind him. A moment later he opened it again.
"Mr. Alston!" he said.
"Now for it," thought Reggie.
Mr. Gray was seated at his table and he motioned Reggie to the seat usually assigned to clients, and there was a pause. Reggie felt all his courage oozing out at the toes of his boots. All that he had thought it possible he might say to Mr. Gray on this question, all his arguments, all his reasons, his pleas, seemed to melt away into thin air, and he wondered however he had dared to interfere in another man's life, and that man his master, even to the degree of wishing to help him and praying for him, much more in openly offering him coffee, and sending him out of the sight of condemning eyes!
But with the remembrance of that four months of daily prayer for this man, came the remembrance of words spoken long ago to faint-hearted men. "The battle is not yours, but God's." That made all the difference.
Then Mr. Gray spoke, coldly, hardly.
"And now, Mr. Alston, what is the meaning of all this?"