As Sweet, the night-watchman, had informed Mr. Hazeldine, John Brancker and Ephraim Judd were at work this evening in the inner office. It was no unusual thing for them to work overtime at certain periods of the month. John Brancker had been in the service of the Bank for between sixteen and seventeen years. He was a homely-featured, plainly-dressed man of five-and-forty, with no pretentions to style or fashion. It was this very unpretentiousness, in conjunction with a certain simplicity of character and a cheerfulness of disposition that never varied, which combined to make him such a universal favorite; everybody in the town knew John Brancker and everybody liked him.
Ephraim Judd was twenty years younger than his fellow-clerk. Mr. Avison the elder had brought him to the Bank when a boy, and there he had been ever since. He was lame, the result of an accident in childhood, and he made use of a stout stick when walking to and from business, although he never seemed to need it when passing from one part of the Bank to another, but got over the ground with a sort of hop and skip which had rather a comical effect in the eyes of strangers. He was a tall, narrow-chested young man, with long, straight, black hair, a sallow complexion, and thin, eager, hungry-looking features. His ears were abnormally large and stuck out prominently from his head, and it was a matter of common report among his fellow clerks that Ephraim could move them backward or forward, after the fashion of certain animals, at will. Like John Brancker, he dressed very plainly, almost shabbily, presenting thereby a marked contrast to some of the juniors, with their chains and rings and elaborate display of collar and cuffs. Mr. Judd's chest was delicate, and when the weather was at all bad he wore a respirator, and at other times he generally muffled himself up carefully about the throat in a long, worsted comforter of many colors. It might be for the same reason, perhaps, that he nearly always wore india rubber overshoes; but that could hardly be the reason why his stick should be shod with the same material. By means of his galoshes Ephraim was enabled to move noiselessly about from place to place, and he sometimes quite startled Sweet, who was pursy and scant of breath, by going up behind him and touching him suddenly on the shoulder when he had no idea that anyone was near him.
"Drat that Mr. Judd with his ingy-rubber shoes!" the night-watchman would say to his wife. "I wish he wouldn't shake one's narves so. He steals about the building like a ghost, or--or as if he was going to commit a burglary; and one never knows whether he's behind one, or in front of one, or where he is."
It was somewhat singular that Ephraim should be so little of a favorite among his fellow clerks--but so it was. He was a man not much given to talking; he kept his own counsel, making friends of nobody, giving offence to none, and seemingly trying to efface himself as much as possible; yet everybody seemed to have a vague distrust of him; everybody had the feeling that he was a man who hid more than he showed on the surface--everybody, that is, except simple-hearted John Brancker, who was proud of Ephraim's cleverness at figures, and proud of his handwriting, which was the best of anyone's in the Bank.
Sweet put his head into the office where the two men were at work. "Mr. Hazeldine has come, sir," he said, addressing himself to Mr. Brancker. "I thought you might perhaps have something you wanted to see him about."
"I don't think I shall trouble him to-night," answered John; "he will be tired, and what matters I have to see him about will keep till morning."
Sweet disappeared and shut the door.
"If I were in Mr. H.'s place, I'd take care not to work as hard as he does," remarked Ephraim.
"When a man's heart is in what he does, as Mr. Hazeldine's is, hard work becomes a pleasure."
"What a pretty girl his daughter is!" resumed Ephraim, after a few moments' silence. "Just the sort of young lady I should like to make up to, if I were in a position to do so."
John laughed.
"Yes, Miss Hazeldine is pretty--nobody can deny that; but whether she would make the sort of wife to suit a man like you may be open to doubt."
"Oh, you are a confirmed old bachelor, Mr. B., and are not supposed to know anything about the ladies."
A shadow flitted across John's face for a moment.
"May it not be because we old bachelors know so much about the ladies that we remain bachelors?" he asked, with a smile. "Have you any idea, Ephraim, of making up to Miss Hazeldine?"
"Now you are poking fun at me, Mr. B. As if she would condescend to look at a poor beggar like me!"
John shut up his inkstand and began to put away his books.
"Are you going to stay much longer?" he asked.
"I shall finish this ledger and then be off. I've had about enough of figures for one day."
John presently bade the other good-night, leaving him still perched on his high stool. A sharp walk of ten minutes carried him home. He lived in a pleasant little semi-detached cottage in the suburbs. There was a small garden in front of his house and a larger one behind, with wide-stretching meadows beyond, and a low range of hills crowning the horizon.
John halted for a moment with his hand on the garden gate. A sound of music reached him from the cottage. His niece--Hermia Rivers--and Clement Hazeldine were playing a duet on the piano and violin.
"What capital time they keep!" he said to himself. "They are playing something I've never heard before. I suppose Mr. Clement has been having some new music from London."
John's terrier heard its master's footsteps on the gravel, and began to bark a welcome; the duet ceased in the middle of a bar; Hermia ran to the door, greeted her uncle with a kiss, and relieved him of his hat and coat, the cat came and purred round his legs, its tail erect in the air; his sister met him with that cheery smile without which home would not have seemed like home; and Clement Hazeldine gave him a hearty grip of the hand.
"We were missing your flute sadly," said the latter. "I have brought two or three fresh pieces this evening, and we were trying one of them over."
"You are very late, dear; but I have kept the teapot in the cosy for you," said Miss Brancker.
"And there's a fire which plainly says, 'Why don't you let me toast you some muffins,'" added Hermia.
"Sweet brought me up some tea about six o'clock," said John; "but I daresay I can manage another cup."
"Of course you can, uncle," rejoined Hermia. "Why, I have known you drink four cups many a time, and then ask for more."
"That must have been when I was very thirsty indeed; but little girls should never tell tales out of school."
Presently Hermia was on her knees toasting a couple of muffins at the sitting-room fire, for at Nairn Cottage the kitchen fire was allowed to go out after the early two o'clock dinner, when the girl, who came to do the rough work in the morning, was dismissed for the day.
"I left your father at the office," remarked John to Clement. "He has been to London, and I fancy that he did not get back till the seven o'clock train."
"I wish he would not stay so late, night after night," answered Clement. "Have you not noticed how care-worn he has been looking of late?"
"I can't say that I have remarked much difference in him, but that may be because I see him every day."
Clement