“Oh, it’s mighty funny, Chris. But I don’t understand it. What the devil does it all mean?”
“The very question in my mind, Fred. What does it mean? New rig-out, gold chain, ring—what does it mean? Why have you never written?”
“The circumstances of my departure—you remember, perhaps.”
The Agent’s face darkened.
“Yes, yes,” he replied hastily; “I remember. The situation was awkward—very.”
“You were much worse than I was, but I got all the blame.”
“Perhaps—perhaps. But it was a long time ago, and—and—well, we have both got on. You are now Barlow—Joseph Barlow.”
“And you are now Crediton—George Crediton.”
“Sit down, Fred; let us have a good talk. And how long have you been back?”
Fred took a chair, and sat down on the opposite side of the table.