A poor-looking man came in, and counted out eight shillings, laying them upon the desk. "I couldn't make up the other two this week; I couldn't, indeed," he said, with trembling eagerness. "I'll bring twelve next week, please to say."
"Mind you do," responded one of the clerks; "or you know what will be in store for you."
The man shook his head. He probably did know; and, in going out, was nearly knocked over by a handsome lad of seventeen, who was running in. Very handsome were his features; but they were marred by the free expression which characterized Mr. Dare's.
"I say, is the governor in?" cried he, out of breath.
"Yes, sir. Lord Hawkesley's with him."
"The deuce take Lord Hawkesley, then!" returned the young gentleman. "Where's Stubbs? I want my week's money, and I can't wait. Walker, I say, where's Stubbs?"
"Stubbs is gone out, sir."
"What a bother! Halloa! Here's some money! What is this?" continued the speaker, catching up the eight shillings.
"It is some that has just been paid in, Master Herbert."
"That's all right then," said he, slipping five of them into his jacket pocket. "Tell Stubbs to put it down as my week's money."