"You are just two hours and a quarter late," he said, glancing at his watch. "Will you kindly explain to me where you have been and what you have been doing?"
"Yes, Uncle Gregory;" and in a very quavering voice Bertie recounted every incident that occurred from the moment he left the office for luncheon till he returned, dwelling least on his interview with Mr. Murray and most on the necessity of overtaking the gentleman who had lost the bag. He then explained what he had heard in the train in the morning, and how important it was that the papers should be signed at once. But Mr. Gregory's face grew graver and sterner as he listened, and instead of praising Bertie, he looked as if he could have cheerfully given him a good thrashing.
"You should have brought that bag to me, sir; you should have remembered that during office hours your time is mine. I am very angry with you, Herbert Rivers, and, what is still worse, very much disappointed. I imagined that you were a steady, straightforward boy, who meant to profit by the exceptional opportunities given you. I fancied you were worthy of the kindness I have bestowed upon you, and I find you a clever, artful, designing creature. Why did you say you preferred to come back to business instead of going with your cousins? why did you come, boy? To cross, thwart, annoy me? In my opinion, you came simply to ingratiate yourself with Mr. Murray, and your conduct to-day has proved it. Why should you find his papers? Why should you take them to him instead of to me—your uncle and guardian, as well as your master? I tell you again that it's my opinion you are a bad, artful designing boy, and I'm very sorry I ever set your foot on the high road to fortune, for I'm sadly afraid you will turn out a disgrace to me some day!"
"Not so bad as that, Gregory, I hope," Mr. Murray said, entering the room; he had been standing in the doorway unnoticed for some minutes, and overheard a good deal of the conversation. "Your nephew is not going to disgrace you, because he did what was clearly his duty in a very clever way. Cheer up, Bertie; your uncle will have a better opinion of you presently."
For answer, Bertie hid his face amongst the circulars on his desk, and burst into a passionate fit of crying, none the less bitter because his uncle sternly commanded him to be quiet, and carry a note to a gentleman in Threadneedle Street, and wait for an answer. Meanwhile Mr. Murray sat down, as if he meant to have a long conversation with Mr. Gregory, who looked as if he most cordially wished his visitor sixty miles away, as he thought him in reality to be, before he had heard Bertie's curious story.
CHAPTER XIV.—BERTIE IN DIFFICULTIES.
W
hen he left the office on his uncle's errand, Bertie Rivers felt very miserable. For a minute he seemed almost stunned by his uncle's words, "A disgrace!" Was it possible that merely doing right ever could bring disgrace to anybody? if so, what was the good of doing right at all? But then, Mr. Murray had commended him, had said right always helped the largest number of people, though one might sometimes suffer; but even in a good cause to be called artful, designing, to be suspected of trying to make friends with Mr. Murray, and leading his uncle to suppose that he did not want to even accept his invitation, was too bitterly hard, and for the first time in his life Bertie felt as if he must throw himself down by the wayside, and sob his sorrow out to some one.
"Oh, if I could only see Aunt Amy!" he said aloud as he toiled up the stairs to the address on the note in his hand. "If I could only tell her all!" and then, as the gentleman was out and he was desired to wait, he sat on a form on the landing, and while seeming to watch the never-ending crowd of passers-by in Threadneedle Street, he was really thinking, "I must see my Aunt Amy. I must, I must, I must!"
The passing cabs attuned themselves to the words, the newspaper-boys, crying "Evening Paper, fourth edition," the flower-sellers, the sellers of mechanical toys, revolving purses, performing mice, and other living and dead monstrosities that haunt the vicinity of the Stock Exchange and Bank, all seemed to "cry" the same thing to Bertie, "I must see Aunt Amy. I must, I must, I must!"
Till four o'clock Bertie sat patiently waiting for an answer to his note, then the commissionaire came and told him that there was no chance of the gentleman he wanted being there that day; so he went back to Mincing Lane, only to find the office shut up, and then, for the first time, he glanced at a clock, and saw that it was a quarter after four. He had no very definite idea of how the time had gone, but the one uppermost idea still in his mind was to get to Aunt Amy, and tell her all his troubles, and ask her if she thought he had been so very much to blame.