“David Inglis, papa! What can you mean?” and Frank came hurriedly forward, stumbling against the furniture as he shaded his eyes from the light.
“My boy! are you here? What would the doctor say? You should have been in bed long ago.”
“But, papa, what is it that is lost? You never could blame Davie, papa. You could not think Davie could take money, Mr Caldwell?”
“No, I know David Inglis better,” said Mr Caldwell, quietly.
“And, papa, you don’t think ill of Davie? You would not if you knew him. Papa! you have not accused him? Oh! what will Aunt Mary think?” cried the boy in great distress. “Papa, how could you do it?”
Mr Oswald was asking himself the same question. The only thing he could say was that there was no one else, which seemed a foolish thing to say in the face of such perfect confidence as these two had in David. But he could not go over the whole matter again, and so he told Frank it was something in which he was not at all to meddle, and in his discomfort and annoyance he spoke sharply to the boy, and sent him away.
“But I shall go to Davie the first thing in the morning, papa. I would not believe such a thing of Davie, though a hundred men declared it. I would sooner believe it of—of Mr Caldwell,” said Frank, excitedly.
“Be quiet, Frank,” said his father; but Mr Caldwell laughed a little and patted the boy on the shoulder as he passed, and then he, too, said good-night and went away. And Mr Oswald was not left in a very pleasant frame of mind, that is certain.
True to his determination to see David, Frank reached the bank next morning before his father. He reached it before David, too, and he would have gone on to meet him, had it not been that the bright sunshine which had followed the rain had dazzled his poor eyes and made him dizzy, and he was glad to cover his face and to lie down on the sofa in his father’s office for a while. He lay still after his father came in, and only moved when he heard David’s voice saying—
“Mr Caldwell told me you wished to see me, sir.”