"It's not the first time I've had to do that, nor the second," he said. "I suppose you never will learn to behave yourself." Jenkins could easily have thrashed the old man--he really looked old to-day--and no consideration for the latter's age would have restrained him from doing so, had not the habit of submission acquired during those years when Mr. Aked ruled the outer office proved stronger than his rage. As it was, he took up a safe position behind the stool and contented himself with words. "You're a beauty, you are!" he began. "How's the red-haired A. B. C. girl getting on? You know, the one that lost her place at the Courts' restaurant through you. If she hadn't been a fool, she'd have brought an action for breach of promise. And how many more are there? I wonder--" Mr. Aked made an uncertain dart after him, but he vanished through the doorway, only to encounter Mr. Smythe. With a rather servile "'d afternoon, sir," to the latter, Mr. Aked walked rapidly out of the office. "What the devil are you all up to?" Mr. Smythe inquired crossly. "Is Aked after money, Larch?" "Not at all, Mr. Smythe. He only called to see me." "You are a friend of his, are you?" "Well, I know him." "H'm! Jenkins, come and take a letter." As Richard hurried down into the court, he felt exceedingly angry with Mr. Aked. Why could not the man be more dignified? Everyone seemed to treat him with contempt, and the cause was not altogether obscure. He had no dignity. Richard felt personally aggrieved. Neither of them spoke of the recent incident as they walked down to the Temple station. Mr. Aked, indeed, said nothing; a fit of coughing occupied him. Somehow Richard's faith in "The Psychology of the Suburbs" had lessened a little during the last half-hour. CHAPTER XIV "Is that you, Mr. Larch?" He distinctly made out Adeline's head and bust above him. Her white apron was pressed against the bannisters, as with extended arms and hands grasping the stair-rail she leaned over to see who was below. "It is, Miss Aked," he answered. "The door was open, and so I walked in. Is anything wrong?" "I've just sent Lottie out for the doctor. Uncle is very ill. I wish you'd see that he comes at once. It's in the Fulham Road, a little to the left--you'll notice the red lamp." As Richard ran out, he met the doctor, a youngish man with a Scots face and grey hair, hurrying down the street, the servant-girl breathless in the rear. "Master was took ill last night, sir," the latter said, in answer to Richard's question. "Pneumonia, the doctor says as it is, and something else, and there's coming a nurse to-night. Master has attacks of it, sir--he can't get his breath." He stood in the passage, uncertain what to do; the doctor had already gone upstairs. "It must be very serious," he murmured. "Yes, sir." Lottie began to whimper. Richard said he would call again later to make inquiries, and presently discovered himself in Fulham Road, walking slowly towards Putney.