‘He is not as bad as he seems,’ the philosopher said, with a twinkle in his eye, ‘but I foresaw your objections, and you shall never see him more.’
‘If that’s so, of course, there isn’t another word to be said.’
‘That’s so; you may calculate upon it as a certainty,’ the pleasant spoken gentleman said; and with a wave of his hand and a chuckle of enjoyment he went away.
The events thus described will explain the scene which John to his consternation and amazement encountered when he stepped into Mr. William’s room at the office, and found himself confronted by both members of the firm.
CHAPTER III.
JOHN ON HIS TRIAL.
Both the partners were together in Mr. William’s room. They had been having some sort of a consultation, it was evident, and both looked very grave. When John walked in at his ease, though a little anxious, they both turned round upon him with very serious faces—the younger man with a grieved air, the elder one rigid and solemn, like a judge before whom a criminal has appeared, whose conviction has been pre-accomplished, and who has come up for judgment. Mr. William Barrett had the air of hoping that some more evidence might be discovered which would possibly exonerate the accused, but his father’s face showed no such hope. On the contrary, something of the ‘I always knew how it would be’ was in his look, as he turned sharply round at the opening of the door.
John was greatly surprised: but still more indignant at this reception of him. He walked up to the table at which Mr. Barrett sat. Mr. William stood with his back to the dusty fireplace close by. Neither of them spoke, but looked at him with that overwhelming effect of silent observation which makes the steadiest footstep falter, and conveys embarrassment and awkwardness into the most self-controlled being. John said ‘Good-morning,’ and they both acknowledged it: Mr. William by an abrupt nod, his father by the most solemn inclination of his head. The young man did not know what to say. He stood and looked at them, wondering, indignant, taking his little packet of papers out of his pocket. What had he done to be so regarded?—or had he perhaps come into the midst of some consultation about other matters with which they were pre-occupied? He said,
‘Is there anything the matter?’ at last, saying to himself that it was impossible he could be the cause of such concentrated solemnity, and looking at the younger partner with a half smile.
‘There is a great deal the matter,’ said Mr. Barrett.
‘Yes,’ said his son; ‘it’s rather a grave business, Sandford. I don’t see it in quite the same light as my father. Still, it’s at least a great want of confidence, a strange slur upon us, who, so far as I know, have nothing to reproach ourselves with in respect to you.’