He managed to elude Dr. Dryer at the close, however, and the boys themselves were hardly out of the building more promptly than was the new “assistant,” a circumstance which by no means eluded the keen eyes of Effie Dryer’s stepmother.
“A mere eye-servant,” she assured the Doctor. “That young man seems to consider himself entirely independent of your control. To think of his going away in that manner, without your permission!”
Dreadful, no doubt, but then Mrs. Dryer would have given half her teeth, much as they cost, if she had known who was waiting for him, and what it was he hurried home to talk about.
“My son, Mr. George Brayton—Mr. Ashbel Norton, George.”
The two men stood for a moment looking at each other, and then the Englishman remarked:
“Happy to meet you, Mr. Brayton. I’ve already said nearly all I have to say, but we can go over it again, if you wish.”
“I should like it, indeed,” said George; “and it seems to concern us both, if I understand it.”
And then followed an hour of very earnest talk ending with Brayton’s saying:
“You seem to have done all that the circumstances required. If he is not found, it will not be your fault. Of course, you were careful in your selection of counsel?”
“Yes, indeed,” replied Norton. “My bankers recommended me to a Judge Danvers, who seems to stand very high——”