He lent it because he was in that mood of mixed softness, abandonment, and sadness, which so often precedes a catastrophe. They parted outside the station, Mr Hale with overwhelming thanks and repeated promises of repayment, Mr Burden gazing at him as though at some memory of the past, then saying: “Good-bye, Mr Hale,” and he said it with as much affection and solemnity as though he were bidding farewell for ever to one of his oldest friends. Mr Hale smiled in a terrified manner and departed; Mr Burden went down the stairs, took his train, and sat silent all the way into town. For the first time in I know not how many years he held no newspaper in his hands. When he came to the City he went directly to Leadenhall Street, and, purposely passing the little familiar archway which led to his friend’s private room, went in at last by the great public entrance of Mr Abbott’s offices. But as the big plate-doors swung to, he felt something mortal upon him. FOOTNOTES: [10] Dr Cayley’s father was old “Honesty” Cayley, twice Mayor of Bletchton. CHAPTER XII Mr Burden stood at the counter where little rails of shining brass were reflected in the polished wood. He looked for some immediate obedience; but his aspect at this moment was not such that his wealth or station could be seen. Mr Burden stood at the counter with both his hands upon it, waiting till someone should notice that he was there. Such duties are reluctantly undertaken by the youngest of a company, and there approached him at length a young clerk with pale and curly hair, watery blue eyes, and of a frank, uncivil manner, as though his heart were in the right place but very small. Mr Burden said to him: “I want to see Mr Abbott.” With easy negligence the young clerk shoved across the counter a form on which was printed:— +———————————————————————————————————+ | | | Name of applicant............... | | | | Nature of business.............. | | | +———————————————————————————————————+ Mr Burden looked at this form a moment, and then lifting his head: “Give him my name,” he said. “What _is_ yer name.” “Burden ... Mr Burden. Tell Mr Abbott Mr Burden is here, and wishes most particularly to see him.” The young clerk sauntered off with a careless ease, and Mr Burden stood waiting at the counter. His face was very pale, his manner unsteady. Beyond, in little pens of glass, ill-paid men, working at books, peeped furtively; some smiled, others looked round to catch a neighbour’s eye. Mr Burden was oblivious of it all. The young clerk returned and said, as a servant in livery speaks to a tradesman in none: “Mr Abbott can’t see you.”