As usual, he had come and gone
furtively.
Dale, duly receiving the message, frowned and shook his head
ominously. He had never been able to get hold of young Bates, although
Mrs. Goudie had reported several of these sinister reappearances, and
probably nothing could have been gained by an interview with such a
heartless scoundrel. So long as old Bates was weak enough to give,
young Bates would be cruel enough to go on taking; and from the aspect
of things it appeared that the too generous father would before long
be altogether denuded. He was getting shabbier and shabbier in his
apparel; his poor old face looked pinched and thin, and the talk was
that he lived on starvation rations. It all seemed horrible to Dale--a
thing that should not be permitted; and yet what could one do?
He thought about it all next day, and it was more or less occupying
his mind at dusk when he sat with Norah in the office clearing up for
the night.
"There, my dear, that'll do. You'll only hurt your eyes."
"It's all right, Mr. Dale. I can see well enough just to finish."
Dale was sitting at the table in the window and Norah stood at his
desk beside the high stool, copying rows of figures out of a huge
day-book. He turned his head and watched her for a minute or so in
silence.
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