“Kidnapped this evening!” pursued the young artist. “Why, you had him here. How could this happen?”
“Listen, and I will tell you,” replied Harrington.
Wentworth and Emily drew up their chairs, and sat facing their friends. There was a moment’s silence, and then in a few clear, direct words, Harrington told them all.
Wentworth sat still and silent till he had finished, and then turned with a face of wrath upon Tugmutton, who immediately began to cry.
“Hush, Richard!” exclaimed Harrington, stopping Wentworth in the furious speech he was about to pour upon the miserable squab. “Don’t use one word of reproach to him. Poor boy! He suffers enough as it is. See,” he whispered, “it is a loving creature, and you have hurt his poor heart. Now say something to soothe him.”
Wentworth choked down his rage, and sat still for an instant. Then, forcing himself to smile, he rose, and went over to Tugmutton, who was roaring in a muffled undertone of heart-broken grief.
“There, Tuggy, my boy, don’t cry,” he said soothingly, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry I looked at you so, but I didn’t mean anything.”
“My gosh, Mr. Wentworth, I feel as if the light of other days was fled,” howled Tugmutton, reminiscent in his anguish of a line from the song he had picked up somewhere.
Wentworth, mad as he was, felt a strong disposition to laugh.
“Never mind, Tuggy,” he said lightly. “Cheer up. It’ll be all right.”