Mrs. Chater pounced upon it; shook it. "What I said was that I suppose
you've been doing nothing but question poor Bob about what he has done
for the firm while he's been away,"

Mr. Chater nerved himself to declare his mind. "There wasn't very much
to question him about," he said.

His words--outcome of views forcibly expressed by his partners in
Mincing Lane that morning--were the foolhardy action of one who pokes
a tigress with a stick.

The tigress shook herself. "Now, I wonder what you mean by _that_?"
she challenged.

Mr. Chater dropped the stick; precipitantly fled. "Of course it was
all new to Bob," he granted, throwing a bone.

Very much to his alarm the tigress ignored the bone; rushed after him.
"All you seem to think about," cried she, "is making the boy slave.
He's never had a proper holiday since he left school, and yet the very
first time he goes off to see the world you must be fidgeting yourself
to death all the time that he's not pushing the firm sufficiently; and
immediately he comes back you must start cross-examining just as if he
was an office-boy--not a word about his health or his pleasure. Oh,
no! of course not!"

Squirming in misery, Mr. Chater remarked that he had his partners to
consider. "I'm only too glad that Bob should enjoy himself--only too
glad. But you must remember, my dear, that part of his expenses for
this trip was paid for by the firm--the _firm_. He was to call on