Warburton went on to the senior partner's room. There sat Godfrey
Sherwood bent over a book which, to judge from the smile upon his
face, could have nothing to do with the sugar-refining question.

"How do, Will?" he exclaimed, with even more than his usual
cheerfulness. "Did you ever read 'The Adventures of a Younger Son'?
Oh, you must. Listen here. He's describing how he thrashed an
assistant master at school; thrashed him, he says, till 'the sweat
dropped from his brows like rain-drops from the eaves of a pig-sty!'
Ho-ho-ho! What do you think of that for a comparison? Isn't it
strong? By Jove! a bracing book! Trelawny, you know; the friend of
Byron. As breezy a book as I know. It does one good."

Godfrey Sherwood was, as regards his visage, what is called a plain
young man, but his smile told of infinite good-nature, and his
voice, notwithstanding its frequent note of energy or zeal, had a
natural softness of intonation which suggested other qualities than
the practical and vigorous.

"Enjoyed your holiday?" he went on, rising, stretching himself, and
offering a box of cigarettes. "You look well. Done any summits? When
we get our affairs in order, I must be off somewhere myself.
Northward, I think. I want a little bracing cold. I should like to
see Iceland. You know the Icelandic sagas? Magnificent! There's the
saga of Grettir the Strong--by Jove! But come, this isn't
business. I have news for you, real, substantial, hopeful news."

They seated themselves in roundbacked chairs, and Will lighted a
cigarette.