"No, sir," said Tom.
The two men looked soberly at each other, and Tom went over to the door of the private office, which stood ajar, and quietly closed it.
"Mr. Burton is busy," he said.
"We might ask him," Mr. Brown suggested.
For the space of a few seconds Tom stood uneasily trying to muster the courage to speak.
"It—it wouldn't be any good to let a lot of people know," he said hesitatingly, but looking straight at Roscoe's father. "Mr. Burton only got here a few minutes ago, and he couldn't tell anything.—If you spoke to him, Miss Ellison would know about it too."
He spoke with great difficulty and not without a tremor in his voice, but his meaning reached the troubled father, who nodded as if he understood.
"It's early yet," Tom ventured; "maybe he'll think it over, kind of, and—and——"
"Thank you, my boy," said Mr. Bent soberly.
The two men stood a moment, as if not knowing what to do next. Then they left, and Tom remained standing just where he was. Of course, he was not surprised, only shocked.