seat.

At first he used to run up every three days, and examine the day-book and
ledger, and advise his junior; but these visits soon became fewer, and at
last he did little more than correspond occasionally.

Arthur Wardlaw held the reins, and easily paid his Oxford debts out of
the assets of the firm. Not being happy in his mind, he threw himself
into commerce with feverish zeal, and very soon extended the operations
of the house.

One of his first acts of authority was to send for Michael Penfold into
his room. Now poor old Michael, ever since his son's misfortune, as he
called it, had crept to his desk like a culprit, expecting every day to
be discharged. When he received this summons he gave a sigh and went
slowly to the young merchant.

Arthur Wardlaw looked up at his entrance, then looked down again, and
said coldly, "Mr. Penfold, you have been a faithful servant to us many
years; I raise your salary fifty pounds a year, and you will keep the
ledger."

The old man was dumfounded at first, and then began to give vent to his
surprise and gratitude; but Wardlaw cut him short, almost fiercely.
"There, there, there," said he, without raising his eyes, "let me hear no
more about it, and, above all, never speak to me of that cursed business.
It was no fault of yours, nor mine neither. There--go--I want no thanks.
Do you hear? leave me, Mr. Penfold, if you please."

The old man bowed low and retired, wondering much at his employer's