ice whistling!"

"That whistling's a queer thing he's taken to," observed the clerk.

"He was doing it coming home from church last Sunday."

"Verra strange, verra strange," commented Mr. Thomieson.

He seemed more struck with the peculiarity of the senior partner's
conduct; Andrew with its offensiveness.

"He shows a fine grasp of things all the same," added the clerk. "In
that way it fairly does me good sir, to see him so speerited. It minds
me of old times."

"A proper like business we'd have had to-day if he'd gone on like this
in old times!" grumbled Andrew. "He gets through things quick enough, I
admit; but I tell you he does not take the same interest in them. He
talks of 'dry details'!"

"Is that so?" said Mr. Thomieson, his eyes opening.

"It's a fact. And he's started cracking jokes with the clerks."

"Aye, I heard him yesterday myself. It sounded awful bad in this
office."

"I tell you what it'll end in," said Andrew. "It'll end in our losing
our business--that'll be the end of it. And this is what he calls 'a few
years of quiet usefulness'!"

The junior partner's upper lip seemed to hang like a curtain half
covering his face. Behind it he swore so distinctly that the
confidential clerk discreetly withdrew.

CHAPTER II

"It's quite remarkable how well I'm keeping--quite astonishing," said
Mr. Walkingshaw to himself, as he continued his walk with his recovered
hat perched at the angle that had so surprised his acquaintances.

A month had passed since the stormy afternoon when he had said farewell
to his family, and he now looked back upon that adieu as the rashest and
most premature act of his life. Andrew must have frightened him; that
was the only conceivable excuse for his conduct, seen in the white light
of his present rude health; and he secretly decided that the junior
partner had been getting a little too much rope. If you once let these
lads kick up their heels, the deuce was in it. He would do nothing
unjust, but he would see that he didn't encourage Andrew to alarm him
again. Thus does the virtue even of the most exemplary occasionally
over-exert itself.

Meanwhile, it was uncommonly pleasant to be able to chase one's hat for
a quarter of a mile and feel not a twinge of gout or rheumatism after
the merry pursuit. Mr. Walkingshaw felt half inclined to give his hat a
start again. What a joke it would be to kick it over the railings next
time! At this very undignified thought,