“Why don’t you get into an office?” said Mr. Galloway.
Arthur’s colour deepened. “Because, sir, no one will take me.”
“Ah!” said Mr. Galloway, drily, “a good name is easier lost than won.”
“Yes, it is,” freely replied Arthur. “However, sir, to return to the question. I shall be glad to help you, if you have no one better at hand. I could devote several hours a day to it, and you know that I am thoroughly to be trusted with the work. I might take some home now.”
“Home!” returned Mr. Galloway. “Did you mean that you could do it at home?”
“Certainly, sir; I did not think of doing it here,” was the pointed reply of Arthur. “I can do it at home just as well as I could here; perhaps better, for I should shut myself up alone, and there would be nothing to interrupt me, or to draw off my attention.”
It cannot be denied that this was a most welcome proposition to Mr. Galloway; indeed, his thoughts had turned to Arthur from the first. Arthur would be far better than a strange clerk, looked for and brought in on the spur of the moment—one who might answer well or answer badly, according to chance. Yet that such must have been his resource, Mr. Galloway knew.
“It will be an accommodation to me, your taking part of the work,” he frankly said. “But you had better come to the office and do it.”
“No, sir; I would rather—”
“Do, Channing!” cried out Roland Yorke, springing up as if he were electrified. “The office will be bearable if you come back again.”