Clarence had another trouble to confide to me. He had strong reason to believe that Tooke, the managing clerk at Bristol, was carrying on a course of peculation, and feathering his nest at the expense of the firm. What a grand discovery, thought I, for such a youth to have made. The firm would be infinitely obliged to him, and his fortune would be secured. He shook his head, and said that was all my ignorance; the man, Tooke, was greatly trusted, especially by Mr. Frith the senior partner, and was so clever and experienced that it would be almost impossible to establish anything against him. Indeed he had browbeaten Clarence, and convinced him at the moment that his suspicions and perplexities were only due to the ignorance of a foolish, scrupulous youth, who did not understand the customs and perquisites of an agency. It was only when Clarence was alone, and reflected on the matter by the light of experience gained on a similar expedition to Liverpool, that he had perceived that Mr. Tooke had been throwing dust in his eyes. ‘I shall only get into a scrape myself,’ said Clarence despondently. ‘I have felt it coming ever since I have been at Bristol;’ and he pushed his hair back with a weary hopeless gesture. ‘But you don’t mean to let it alone?’ I cried indignantly. He hesitated in a manner that painfully recalled his failing, and said at last, ‘I don’t know; I suppose I ought not.’ ‘Suppose?’ I cried. ‘It is not so easy as you think,’ he answered, ‘especially for one who has forfeited the right to be believed. I must wait till I have an opportunity of speaking to Mr. Castleford, and then I can hardly do more than privately give him a hint to be watchful. You don’t know how things are in such houses as ours. One may only ruin oneself without doing any good.’ ‘You cannot write to him?’ ‘Certainly not. He has taken his family to Mrs. Castleford’s home in the north of Ireland for a month or six weeks. I don’t know the address, and I cannot run the risk of the letter being opened at the office.’ ‘Can’t you speak to my father?’ ‘Impossible! it would be a betrayal. He would do things for which I should never be forgiven. And, after all, remember, it is no business of mine. I know of agents at the docks who do such things as a matter of course. It is only that I happen to know that Harris at Liverpool does not. Very possibly old Frith knows all about it. I should only get scored down as a meddlesome prig, worse hypocrite than they think me already.’ He said a good deal more to this effect, and I remember exclaiming, ‘Oh, Clarence, the old story!’ and then being frightened at the whiteness that came over his face.