By way of a blind--I suppose it may be called a justifiable
deceit," said Hamish, gaily--"I have taken care to carry the office
books into my room, that their suspicions may be confined to the
accounts. Judy's keen eyes detected my candle burning later than she
considered it ought to burn, and her rest has been disturbed with
visions of my setting the house on fire. I have counselled her to keep
the water-butt full, under her window, so that she may be safe from
danger."
"And are you earning money now?"
"In-one sense, I am: I am writing for it. My former papers were for the
most part miscellaneous--essays, and that sort of thing; but I am about
a longer work now, to be paid for on completion. When it is finished
and appears, I shall startle them at home with the news, and treat them
to a sight of it. When all other trades fail, sir, I can set up my tent
as an author."
Mr. Huntley's feelings glowed within him. None, more than he, knew the
value of silent industry--the worth of those who patiently practise it.
His heart went out to Hamish. "I suppose I must recommend you to
Bartlett's post, after all," said he, affecting to speak carelessly,
his eye betraying something very different.
"Is it not gone?" asked Hamish.
"No, it is not gone. And the appointment rests with me. How would you
like it?"
"Nay," said Hamish, half mockingly: "the question is, should I be
honest enough for it?"
Mr.
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