He was still more severely censured that afternoon by Mr. Dodson. He even suffered the ignominy of being summoned to the table by Mr. Walter Pater Walkinshaw, and of being admonished publicly for his incompetence. He was spoken to so sternly, and he felt the position in which he stood to be one of such humiliation, that in spite of the frantic efforts he put forth to conquer his weakness in the presence of others, the tears came again into his eyes. “I--I will do better, sir,” he said, in such a tone of distress that it seemed to soften the smiles of those who heard the words. “I--I will do better. I am praying continually that I may do better.” “What can one do with a fellow like that?” said Mr. Walkinshaw subsequently, in an eloquent aside to his second in command, Mr. Aristophanes Luff. “I suppose he suffers from a form of religious mania; at least a child could see that he is mentally weak. I am sure he ought to be complained of; he is not anything like up to our traditions; how Mr. Octavius could have fallen into such an error heaven only knows; but really I haven’t the heart to say so.” “There can be no doubt he is a little deficient mentally,” observed Mr. Aristophanes Luff, “but perhaps we might give him another week.” Seven o’clock struck at last, and the clerks discarded their pens and went home. The boy was always the last to go forth, not because he had been told to remain; it was simply that his curiously innate sense of the fitness of things, which was out of all harmony with his development in the practical sciences, declared that he must never seek to take precedence of his elders. To-night a fire was kindled in his veins. It seemed as though the others would never close their desks and go. He could hardly curb his desire to rush out before them all. But at last they had all left the counting-house, and he was at liberty to carry the treasure to his father in the little room. Like one possessed he ran home with the pieces of silver making wild music in his pocket. He seemed almost delirious with joy as he threaded his way through the press with a heedlessness which seemed almost contemptuous. It was truly astonishing with what ease and lightness he had already come to move about the great world out of doors. To-night he did not fear the crossings in the least. He felt no desire to shrink from the ever-pressing crowd of street-persons who formerly had elbowed him into the gutter. To-night he could bear his part with all who walked abroad in that vast city.