"Mean? what I say!" shouted Durfy. "You're dismissed, kicked out, and the sooner you go the better."

So this was the dignified leave-taking to which he had secretly looked forward! Kicked out! and kicked out by Durfy! Reginald's toes tingled at the very thought.

"You've no right to dismiss me for being a few minutes late," said he.

It was Durfy's turn now to be dignified. He went on writing, and did his best to affect oblivion of his enemy's presence.

Reginald, too indignant to know the folly of such an outburst, broke out,--

"I shall not take my dismissal from you. I shall stay here as long as I choose, and when I go I'll go of my own accord, you cad, you--"

Mr Durfy still went on writing with a cheerful smile on his countenance.

"Do you hear?" said Reginald, almost shouting the words. "I'm not going to please you. I shall go to please myself. I give _you_ notice, and thank Heaven I've done with you."

Durfy looked up with a laugh.

"Go and make that noise outside," he said. "We can do without you here.

Gedge, my man, put those cases beside you back into the rack, and go and tell the porter he's wanted."

The mention of Gedge's name cowed Reginald in an instant, and in the sudden revulsion of feeling which ensued he was glad enough to escape from the room before fairly breaking down under a crushing sense of injury, mortification, and helplessness. Gedge was at the door as he went out.

"Oh, Cruden," he whispered, "what will become of me now? Wait for me outside at seven o'clock; please do."

That afternoon Reginald paced the streets more like a hunted beast than a human being. All the bad side of his nature--his pride, his conceit, his selfishness--was stirred within him under a bitter sense of shame and indignity. He forgot how much his own intractable temper and stupid self-importance had contributed to his fall, and could think of nothing but Durfy's triumph and the evil fate which at the very moment, when he was able to snap his fingers in the tyrant's face, had driven him forth in disgrace with the tyrant's fingers snapped in his face. He had not spirit or resolution enough to wait to see Gedge or any one that evening, but slunk away, hating the sight of everybody, and wishing only he could lose himself and forget that such a wretch as Reginald Cruden existed.

Ah! Reginald. It's a long race to escape from oneself. Men have tried it before now with better reason than you, and failed. Wait till you have something worse to run from, my honest, foolish friend. Face round like a man, and stand up to your pursuer. You have hit out straight from the shoulder before to-day. Do it again now. One smart round will finish the business, for this false Reginald is a poor creature after all, and you can knock him out of time and over the ropes with one hand if you like. Try it, and save your running powers for an uglier foeman some other day!

Reginald did fight it out with himself as he walked mile after mile that afternoon through the London streets, and by the time he reached home in the evening he was himself again.

He met his mother's tears and Horace's dismal looks with a smile of triumph.

"So you've heard all about it, have you?" said he.

"Oh, Reginald," said his mother, in deep distress, "how grieved I am for you!"

"You needn't be, mother," said Reginald, "for I've got another situation far better and worth three times as much."

And then he told them, as far as he felt justified in doing so, of the advertis.e.m.e.nt and what it had led to, finishing up with a glowing description of Mr Medlock, whom he only regretted he had not had the courage to ask up to tea that very evening.

But there was a cloud on the bright horizon which his mother and Horace were quicker to observe than he.

"But, Reg," said the latter, "surely it means you'd have to go to Liverpool?"

"Yes; I'm afraid it does. That's the one drawback."

"But surely you won't accept it, then?" said the younger brother.

Reginald looked up. Horace's tone, if not imperious, had not been sympathetic, and it jarred on him in the fulness of his projects to encounter an obstacle.

"Why not?" he replied. "It's all very well for you, in your snug berth, but I must get a living, mustn't I?"

"I should have thought something might turn up in London," persisted Horace.

"Things don't turn up as we want them," said Reginald, tartly. "Look here, Horace, you surely don't suppose I prefer to go to Liverpool to staying here?"

"Of course not," said Horace, beginning to whistle softly to himself.

It was a bad omen, and Mrs Cruden knew it.

"Come," said she, cheerily, "we must make the best of it. These names, Reg, in the list of directors Mr Medlock gave you, seem all very respectable."

"Do you know any of them?" asked Reginald. "Mr Medlock thought you might."

"I know one or two by name," replied she. "There's the Bishop of S--, I see, and Major Wakeman, who I suppose is the officer who has been doing so well in India. There's a Member of Parliament, too, I see. It seems a good set of directors."

"Of course they aren't likely all to turn up at board meetings," said Reginald, with an explanatory air.

"I don't see myself what business a bishop has with a Select Agency Corporation," said Horace, determined not to see matters in a favourable light.

"My dear fellow," said Reginald, trying hard to keep his temper, "I can't help whether you see it or not. By the way, mother, about the 50 to invest. I think Mr Richmond--"

Mrs Cruden started.

"This exciting news," said she, "drove it out of my head for the moment.

Boys, I am very sorry to say I had a note to-day stating that Mr Richmond was taken ill while in France, and is dead. He was one of our few old friends, and it is a very sad blow."

She was right. The Crudens never stood in greater need of a wise friend than they did now.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

REGINALD TAKES HIS FATE INTO HIS OWN HANDS.

The next day Reginald wrote and accepted the invitation of the directors of the Select Agency Corporation. He flattered himself he was acting deliberately, and after fully weighing the pros and cons of the question. True, he still knew very little about his new duties, and had yet to make the acquaintance of the Bishop of S-- and the other directors. But, on the other hand, he had seen Mr Medlock, and heard what he had to say, and was quite satisfied in his own mind that everything was all right. And, greatest argument of all, he had no other place to go to, and 150 a year was a salary not to be thrown away when put into one's hands.

Still, he felt a trifle uncomfortable about the necessity of going to Liverpool and breaking up the old home. Of course, he could not help himself, and Horace had no right to insinuate otherwise. All the same, it was a pity, and if there had not been the compensating certainty of being able to send up regular contributions to the family purse, which would help his mother to not a few comforts. .h.i.therto denied, he would have been more troubled still about it.

"What will you do about the 50?" said Horace next day, forcing himself to appear interested in what he inwardly disapproved.

"Oh," said Reginald, "I'd intended to ask Richmond to lend it me. It's not exactly a loan either; it would be the same as his investing in the company in my name. The money would be safe, and he'd get his interest into the bargain. But of course I can't go to him now."

"No; and I don't know whom else you could ask," said Horace.

"They might let me put in a pound a week out of my salary," said Reginald. "That would still leave me two pounds a week, and of that I could send home at least twenty-five shillings."

Horace mused.