Come along, old fellow, or Galloway may be blowing
us up for arriving late."
Twitching Tom's hair as he passed him, treading on the cat's tail, and
tossing a branch of sweetbriar full of thorns at Annabel, Mr. Roland
Yorke made his way out in a commotion. Arthur, yielding to the strong
will, followed. Roland passed his arm within his, and they went towards
Close Street.
"I say, old chum, I haven't had a wink of sleep all night, worrying
over this bother. My room is over Lady Augusta's, and she sent up this
morning to know what I was pacing about for, like a troubled ghost. I
woke at four o'clock, and I could not get to sleep after; so I just
stamped about a bit, to stamp the time away."
In a happier mood, Arthur might have laughed at his Irish talk, "I am
glad you stand by me, at any rate, Yorke. I never did it, you know.
Here comes Williams. I wonder in what light he will take up the affair?
Perhaps he will turn me from my post at the organ."
"He had better!" flashed Roland. "I'd turn him!"
Mr. Williams appeared to "take up the affair" in a resentful, haughty
sort of spirit, something like Roland, only that he was quieter over
it. He threw ridicule upon the charge. "I am astonished at Galloway!"
he observed, when he had spoken with them some moments. "Should he go
on with the case, the town will cry shame upon him."
"Ah, but you see it was that meddling Butterby, not Galloway," returned
Yorke.
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