Though not more than ten minutes absent, Tony thought the time very long; in reality be felt anxious about the poor fellow, and eager to know that his disaster had not led to disgrace. “Never so much as noticed it,” said Darner,--“was so full of other matters. I suspect,” added he, in a lower tone,--“I suspect we are going out.” “Out where?” asked Tony, with simplicity. “Out of office, out of power,” replied the other, half testily; then added in a more conciliatory voice, “I 'll tell you why I think so. He began filling up all the things that are vacant. I have just named two colonial secretaries, a chief justice, an auditor-general, and an inspector of convicts. I thought of that for _you_, and handed him your letter; but before he broke the seal he had filled up the place.” “So then he has read the letter?” “Yes, he read it twice; and when I told him you were here in waiting, he said, 'Tell him not to go; I 'll see him.'” The thought of presenting himself bodily before the great man made Tony feel nervous and uncomfortable; and after a few moments of fidgety uneasiness, he said, “What sort of person is he,--what is he like?” “Well,” said Damer, who now stood over a basin, sponging his eye with cold water, “he's shy--very shy--but you 'd never guess it; for he has a bold, abrupt sort of way with him; and he constantly answers his own questions, and if the replies displease him, he grows irritable. You 've seen men like that?” “I cannot say that I have.” “Then it's downright impossible to say when he's in good humor with one, for he 'll stop short in a laugh and give you such a pull up!” “That is dreadful!” exclaimed Tony. “_I_ can manage him! They say in the office I 'm the only fellow that ever could manage him. There goes his bell,--that's for you; wait here, however, till I come back.” Darner hurried away, but was back in a moment, and beckoned to Tony to follow him, which he did in a state of flurry and anxiety that a real peril would never have caused him. Tony found himself standing in the Minister's presence, where he remained for full a couple of minutes before the great man lifted his head and ceased writing. “Sit down,” was the first salutation; and as he took a chair, he had time to remark the stern but handsome features of a large man, somewhat past the prime of life, and showing in the lines of his face traces of dissipation as well as of labor. “Are you the son of Watty Butler?” asked he, as he wheeled his chair from the table and confronted Tony. “My father's name was Walter, sir,” replied Tony, not altogether without resenting this tone of alluding to him. “Walter! nothing of the kind; nobody ever called him anything but Watty, or Wat Tartar, in the regiment. Poor Watty! you are very like him,--not so large,--not so tall.” “The same height to a hair, sir.”