Next morning Mr. Brownlow was not well enough to go to business. He was not ill. He repeated the assurance a score of times to himself and to his children. He had not slept well, that was all--and perhaps a day’s rest, a little quiet and tranquillity, would do him good. He had got up at his usual hour, and was down to breakfast, and read his paper, and every thing went on in its ordinary way; but yet he was indisposed--and a day’s rest would do him good. Young John assented heartily, and was very willing to take his father’s place for the day and manage all his business. It was a bright morning, and the room was full of flowers and the young leaves fluttered at the windows in the earliest green of spring. It was exhilarating to stand in the great recesses of the windows and look out upon the park, all green and budding, and think it was all yours and your children’s--a sort of feeling which had little effect upon the young people, but was sweet yet overwhelming to their father as he stood and looked out in the quiet of the morning. All his--all theirs; yet perhaps--
“I don’t think I shall go down to-day,” he said. “You can tell Wrinkell to send me up the papers in the Wardell case. He knows what I want. He can send the--the new clerk up with them--Powys I mean.”
“Well, yes, Powys. Is there any reason why he should not send Powys?” said Mr. Brownlow peremptorily, feeling hot and conscious, and ready to take offense.
“No, certainly,” said Jack, with some surprise. He did not take to Powys, that was unquestionable; yet the chances are he would never have remarked upon Mr. Brownlow’s choice of him but for the curious impatience and peremptoriness in his father’s tone.
“I like him,” said Mr. Brownlow--“he knows what he has to do and--he does it. I like a man who does that--it gives one confidence for the time to come.”
“Yes,” said Jack. “I never cared for him, sir, as you know. He is not my ideal of a clerk--but that is nothing; only I rather think Wrinkell has changed his opinion lately. The young fellow gets on well enough--but there is a difference. I suppose that sort of extra punctuality and virtue can only last a certain time.”
“I dare say these are very fine notions, Jack,” said his father; “but I am not quite such an accomplished man of the world, I suppose, as if I had been brought up at Eton. I believe in virtue lasting a long time. You must bear with my old-fashioned prejudices.” This Mr. Brownlow said in a way which puzzled Jack, for he was not a man given to sneers.