“I have said nothing at home. It was of no use telling them, until I had spoken to you. Now that my prospects are gone—”
“What prospects?” interrupted Mr. Galloway.
“My articles to you, sir. Of course there’s no chance of that now.”
Mr. Galloway grunted. “The ruin that Chancery suits work! Mark you, Arthur Channing, this is such a thing as was never asked a proctor before—leave of absence for two hours in the best part of the day! If I grant it, it will be out of the great friendship I bear your father.”
“Oh, sir! I shall never forget the obligation.”
“Take care you don’t. You must come and work for two hours before breakfast in a morning.”
“Willingly—readily!” exclaimed Arthur Channing, his face glowing. “Then may I really tell Mr. Williams that I can accept it?”
“If I don’t say yes, I suppose you’d magnify me into a sullen old bear, as bad as Ketch, the porter. You may accept it. Stop!” thundered Mr. Galloway, coming to a dead standstill.
Arthur was startled. “What now, sir?”
“Are you to be instructor to those random animals, the choristers?”