As George rode by, he saw Rupert standing at the narrow entrance door, leaning against it, as if in fatigue or idleness. Ford, the clerk, a young man accustomed to taking life easily, and to give himself little concern as to how it went, was standing near, his hands in his pockets. To see them doing nothing was sufficient to tell George that Chattaway was not about, and he rode up to the office. "You look tired, Rupert." "I am tired," answered Rupert. "If things are to go on like this, I shall grow tired of life altogether." "Not yet," said George, cheeringly. "You may talk of that some fifty years hence." Rupert made no answer. The sunlight fell on his fair features and golden hair. There was a haggardness in those features, a melancholy in the dark blue eyes, George did not like to see. Ford, the clerk, who was humming the verse of a song, cut short the melody, and addressed George. "He has been in this gay state all the afternoon, sir. A charming companion for a fellow! It's a good thing I'm pretty jolly myself, or we might get consigned to the county asylum as two cases of melancholy. I hope he won't make a night of it again, that's all. Nothing wears out a chap like a night without bed, and no breakfast at the end of it." "It isn't that," said Rupert. "I'm sick of it altogether. There has been nothing but a row here all day, George--ask Ford. Chattaway has been on at all of us. First, he attacked me. He demanded where I slept, and I wouldn't tell him. Next, he attacked Cris--a most unusual thing--and Cris hasn't got over it yet. He has gone galloping off, to gallop his ill-temper away." "Chattaway has?" "Not Chattaway; Cris. Cris never came here until one o'clock, and Chattaway wanted him, and a row ensued. Next, Ford came in for it: he had made a mistake in his entries. Something had uncommonly put out Chattaway--that is certain. And to improve his temper, the inspector of collieries came to-day and found fault, ordering things to be done that Chattaway says he won't do." "Where's Chattaway now?" "Gone home. I wish I was there, without the trouble of walking," added Rupert. "Chattaway has been ordering a load of coals to the Hold. If they were going this evening instead of to-morrow morning, I protest I'd take my seat upon them, and get home that way." "Are you so very tired?" asked George. "Dead beat." "It's the sitting up," put in Ford again. "I don't think much of that kind of thing will do for Mr. Rupert Trevlyn." "Perhaps it wouldn't do for you," grumbled Rupert. George prepared to ride away. "Have you had any dinner, Rupert?" he asked. "I made an attempt, but my appetite had gone by. Chattaway was here till past two o'clock, and after that I wasn't hungry." "He tried some bread-and-cheese," said Ford. "I told him if he'd get a chop I'd cook it for him; but he didn't." "I must be gone," said George. "You will not have left in half-an-hour's time, shall you, Rupert?" "No; nor in an hour either."