“_He_ intend to stay away! catch him thinking of it,” retorted Mrs. Jenkins. “It is as I have just told him--that he’d come in his coffin. And it’s my firm belief that if he knew a week’s holiday would save him from his coffin, he’d not take it, unless I was at his back to make him. It’s well he has somebody to look after him that’s not quite deficient of common sense!” “Well, this is a plague!” grumbled Roland. “So it is--for me, I know, if for nobody else,” was Mrs. Jenkins’s reply. “But there’s some plagues in the world that we must put up with, and make the best of, whether we like ‘em or not; and this is one of them. You’ll tell Mr. Galloway, please; it will save me waiting.” However, as Mrs. Jenkins was departing, she encountered Mr. Galloway, and told him herself. He was both vexed and grieved to hear it; grieved on Jenkins’s score, vexed on his own. That Jenkins was growing very ill, he believed from his own observation, and it could not have happened at a more untoward time. Involuntarily, Mr. Galloway’s thoughts turned to Arthur Channing, and he wished he had him in the office still. “You must turn over a new leaf from this very hour, Roland Yorke,” he observed to that gentleman, when he entered. “We must both of us buckle-to, if we are to get through the work.” “It’s not possible, sir, that I can do Jenkins’s share and mine,” said Roland. “If you only do Jenkins’s, I’ll do yours,” replied Mr. Galloway, significantly. “Understand me, Roland: I shall expect you to show yourself equal to this emergency. Put aside frivolity and idleness, and apply yourself in earnest. Jenkins has been in the habit of taking part of your work upon himself, as I believe no clerk living would have done; and, in return, you must now take his. I hope in a few days he may be with us again. Poor fellow, we shall feel his loss!” Mr. Galloway had to go out in the course of the morning, and Roland was left alone to the cares and work of the office. It occurred to him that, as a preliminary step, he could not do better than open the window, that the sight of people passing (especially any of his acquaintances, with whom he might exchange greetings) should cheer him on at his hard work. Accordingly, he threw it up to its utmost extent, and went on with his writing, giving alternately one look to his task, and two to the street. Not many minutes had he been thus spurring on his industry, when he saw Arthur Channing pass. “Hist--st--st!” called out Roland, by way of attracting his attention. “Come in, old fellow, will you? Here’s such a game!” CHAPTER XLV. -- A NEW SUSPICION.