"Well, I won't be impudent!" said Fitz, with a kind of suppressed chuckle.
"There were, or you thought there were, certain papers in my safe which might be useful to you," added Mr. Checkynshaw.
"I don't believe there were any letters from my cousin Marguerite among them," replied Fitz, with a sneering laugh. "Marguerite must be able to write very pretty letters by this time."
"Be still, Fitz," pleaded Mrs. Wittleworth.
"Fitz, I don't want to quarrel with you," continued Mr. Checkynshaw, in the most pliable tones Fitz had ever heard the banker use to him.
"I thought you did. Accusing a gentleman of robbing your safe is not exactly the way to make friends with him," said Fitz, so much astonished at the great man's change of tone that he hardly knew what to say.
"I accuse you of nothing. Fitz, if you want your place in my office again, you can return to-morrow morning."
Mr. Wittleworth looked at his disconsolate mother. A gleam of triumph rested on his face. The banker, the head and front of the great house of Checkynshaw, Hart, & Co., had fully and directly recognized the value of his services; had fairly "backed out," and actually entreated him to return, and fill the vacant place, which no other person was competent to fill! That was glory enough for one day. But he concluded that it would be better for the banker to come down a peg farther, and apologize for his abusive treatment of his confidential clerk.
"Certainly he will be glad to take the place again, sir," said Mrs. Wittleworth, who was anxious to help along the negotiation.
"Perhaps I will; and then again, perhaps I will not," replied Mr. Wittleworth, who was beginning to be airy again, and threw himself back on his chair, sucked his teeth, and looked as magnificent as an Eastern prince. "Are you willing to double my salary, Mr. Checkynshaw?"