“Don’t talk rubbish, Jenkins,” rebuked Roland. “You have defended Galloway all through the piece, but he is as much to blame as Butterby. Why did he turn off Channing?”
“You do not think him guilty, Roland, I see,” said Mr. Huntley.
“I should hope I don’t,” answered Roland. “Butterby pitched upon Arthur, because there happened to be nobody else at hand to pitch upon; just as he’d have pitched upon you, Mr. Huntley, had you happened to be in the office that afternoon.”
“Mr. Arthur Channing was not guilty, I am sure, sir; pray do not think him so,” resumed Jenkins, his eye lighting as he turned to Mr. Huntley. And Mr. Huntley smiled in response to the earnestness. He believe Arthur Channing guilty!
He left a message for Mr. Galloway, and quitted the office. Roland, who was very difficult to settle to work again, if once disturbed from it, strided himself across his stool, and tilted it backwards.
“I’m uncommonly glad Carrick’s coming!” cried he. “Do you remember him, Jenkins?”
“Who, sir?”
“That uncle of mine. He was at Helstonleigh three years ago.”
“I am not sure that I do, sir.”
“What a sieve of a memory you must have! He is as tall as a house. We are not bad fellows for height, but Carrick beats us. He is not married, you know, and we look to him to square up many a corner. To do him justice, he never says No, when he has the cash, but he’s often out at elbows himself. It was he who bought George his commission and fitted him out; and I know my lady looks to him to find the funds Gerald will want to make him into a parson. I wonder what he’ll do for me?”