"Enter a house at Rotterdam, as English clerk!" repeated Mr. Dare, unable to credit his own ears. "You a clerk!"
"What am I to do?" asked Herbert. "Since I came out of there," pointing in the direction of the county prison, "claims have thickened upon me. I do owe a good deal, and that's a fact—what with my own scores, and that for which I am liable for—for poor Anthony. People won't wait much longer; and I have no fancy to try the debtor's side of the prison."
They were standing in the front room of the office. Mr. Dare's business appeared to be considerably falling off, and the office had often leisure on its hands now. Of the two clerks kept, one had holiday, the other was out. Somehow, what with one untoward thing and another, people were growing shy of the Dares. Mr. Dare leaned against the corner of the window-frame, watching the passers-by, his hands in his pockets, and a blank look on his face.
"You say you can't help me, sir?" Herbert continued.
"You know I can't; sufficiently to do any good," returned Mr. Dare. "I am too much pressed for money myself. Look at the expenses attending the trial: and I was embarrassed enough before. I cannot help you."
"It seems to me, too, that you want me gone from here."
"I have not said so," curtly responded Mr. Dare.
"You told me the other day that it was my presence in the office which scared clients from it."
Mr. Dare could not deny the fact. He had said it. What's more, he had thought it; and did so still. "I cannot tell what else it is that is keeping clients away," he rejoined. "We have not had a dozen in since the trial."
"It is a slack season of the year."