But, being lazily disposed, we declined the invitation, and determined to brave the dust and go up.
The office was certainly not very tempting for work. The windows were wide open, and the din of omnibuses and other traffic from the street below was almost deafening. Stools and chairs were stacked together in the middle of the floor, and the waste-paper of yesterday littered the whole place. Even our own desks were thick with dust.
Under these depressing circumstances we were forced to admit that possibly the housekeeper was right, and that we had better take a walk.
“It’s a nuisance,” said I, “for I had to leave one or two things unfinished yesterday.”
“I’ve a good mind to try,” said Jack. “Unless I can catch up my work I shall have to stay late to-night, and I don’t want to do that, as father is going to try to get away early.”
So we dusted our desks as best we could, shut the windows to keep out the noise, recovered our stools from the assortment in the middle, and prepared to make the best of it.
“Do you know, Jack,” said I, as I was getting out my papers, “it is so queer to hear you talking of Mr Smith as father? I can hardly realise it yet.”
“No more can I, often,” said Jack, “though I am getting more used to the idea.”
“When are you going to take him to Packworth?” I asked.
“I’m not quite sure. He thinks he can get a week at the end of this month, and I shall try to get the partners to let me take my holiday at the same time.”