5. THE TRIAL


Next day but one Mr. Craven astonished us all by walking into the office
about ten o'clock. He looked stout and well, sunburnt to a degree, and
all the better physically for his trip to the seaside. We were
unfeignedly glad to see him. Given a good employer, and it must be an
extremely bad employe who rejoices in his absence. If we were not
saints, we were none of us very black sheep, and accordingly, from the
porter to the managing clerk, our faces brightened at sight of our
principal.

But after the first genial "how are you" and "good morning," Mr.
Craven's face told tales: he had come back out of sorts. He was vexed
about Miss Blake's letter, and, astonishing to relate, he was angry with
me for having called upon Colonel Morris.

"You take too much upon you, Patterson," he remarked. "It is a growing
habit with you, and you must try to check it."

I did not answer him by a word; my heart seemed in my mouth; I felt as
if I was choking. I only inclined my head in token that I heard and
understood, and assented; then, having, fortunately, work to attend to
out of doors, I seized an early opportunity of slipping down the
staircase and walking off to Chancery Lane. When I returned, after
hours, to Buckingham Street, one of the small boys in the outer office
told me I was to go to Mr. Craven's room directly.

"You'll catch it," remarked the young fiend. "He has asked for you a