The next day Mr. Sands received an unexpected summons to Washington. A brother, who was clerk in one of the departments, was seriously ill, and he was summoned to his bedside.

“How long shall you be absent, sir?” inquired Simon Moore.

“I cannot say; it will depend on how I find my brother. Keep me apprised of what is going on by letter, and, if necessary, by telegraph.”

“Yes, sir,” said Simon, cheerfully; “you may rely upon me.”

“Where is Gilbert?”

“Gone to the post-office.”

“I have sometimes thought, Mr. Moore, that you were prejudiced against the boy.”

“I was at first, sir,” said Moore; “but on the whole he seems faithful, and disposed to do his duty.”

Mr. Sands smiled slightly, but this Mr. Moore did not observe.

“I think well of him myself,” he said.

“If he does well, he won’t have reason to complain of me,” said the book-keeper.

Again Mr. Sands smiled, but said nothing. Just as he was leaving the office for the cars, Gilbert returned.

“I wish, Gilbert, you would accompany me to the Courtland Street Ferry,” said his employer. “I am going to Washington this afternoon.”

“Indeed, sir!”

“I am summoned to my brother’s sick-bed.”

“When did you hear of his sickness, sir?” asked Gilbert, in a sympathizing tone.

“A week since; but last evening I learned by a telegram that he is dangerously sick.”

By this time they were on their way to the ferry.

“You may take my valise, Gilbert,” said the broker, “if you are willing.”

“Certainly, sir,” said Gilbert, politely. “I hope you will find your brother better.”

“I certainly hope so. He would be a great loss to his family. By the way, how are you getting on with Mr. Moore?”

“I hardly know, sir,” said Gilbert. “I don’t think he likes me.”

“Have you done anything to offend him?”

“Not that I am aware of. I have always treated him with respect.”

“That is right. If you get into any trouble with him while I am away, come to me after I return, and tell me all about it.”

Gilbert looked surprised, but of course promised to do so.

“I shall try not to get into any disturbance,” he said.

“I hope you won’t, but I fancy you will,” said his employer.

“I hope you don’t think I am quarrelsome, Mr. Sands.”

“No, that is not my reason. I will say no more at present, except to request you, if anything happens, to give me a truthful and detailed account of it when I return.”

“Thank you, sir, I will,” said Gilbert, who, though puzzled, felt that his employer was friendly towards him.

Gilbert waited till the boat started, and then returned to the office. He regretted Mr. Sands’ absence, for something told him that Mr. Moore would make it very disagreeable for him while he was gone. Indeed, the book-keeper was not long in showing his state of feeling towards our hero. As Gilbert entered, he looked up sharply from his desk.

“So you are back at last?” he said unpleasantly.

“Yes, sir,” answered Gilbert.

“I thought you intended to remain away all day.”

“Mr. Sands desired me to go to the ferry with him.”

“He didn’t desire you to stop to play on the way home.”

“Did you see me playing on the way home?” demanded Gilbert, provoked.

“How could I when I was at work in the office?”

“Has any one reported to you that I stopped to play?”

“No.”

“Then why do you charge me with it?”

“Look here, young man, I advise you not to try any of your impudence on me!” said Simon Moore, who, knowing himself in the wrong, was all the more angry. “I tell you, once for all, that I won’t stand it.”

“I don’t intend to be impudent, Mr. Moore; but I do expect decent treatment from you.”

“You are showing your hand pretty quick, young man. No sooner does Mr. Sands leave the city than you begin to put on your airs. I shall take care to report your conduct to him.”

“I have neither done nor said anything that I am ashamed to have reported to him.”

“Shut up!” said Moore, sharply.

Gilbert saw that there was no use in prolonging the dispute, and quietly went about his duties. While he was absent on an errand, a little later, his predecessor, John, looked in the door, and, seeing his cousin alone, entered.

“Good-morning, cousin Simon,” he said. “Where is Mr. Sands?”

“Gone to Washington.”

“He has? How long will he be gone?”

“A week perhaps.”

John’s eyes sparkled.

“That’s favorable for us, isn’t it?” he said.

Simon Moore nodded significantly.

“You are right there,” he said. “When he gets back, Gilbert Greyson won’t be here.”

“You’ll do what we were talking about last evening?”

“Yes, I shall have plenty of chances while Sands is away.”

“Can’t you manage it to-day?”

“No, it would look suspicious; I don’t want Mr. Sands to suspect anything.”

“How soon, then?”

“Say day after to-morrow. In order to avert suspicion, I will in my letter of to-morrow speak a good word for Gilbert,—say he’s doing better than I anticipated, or something of that sort. The next day the explosion will come.”

“You’ll bounce Gilbert?”

“Yes, I’ll take that upon myself, and explain to Sands when he returns. Ten to one he won’t interfere then.”

“And you’ll take me in Gilbert’s place?”

“Yes, I’ll do that, too. But you must do better than you did last time. The fact is, John, you were lazy and careless. I was sorry to have you go, as you are my cousin; but I couldn’t blame Mr. Sands much.”

“Oh, I’ll turn over a new leaf, cousin Simon,” said John, readily. “You shan’t have anything to complain of.”

“I hope not.”

Here Gilbert returned from his errand, and the conversation necessarily closed.

Gilbert nodded politely to John, though he took no particular fancy to him.

“So the boss is away?” said John, sociably.

“Yes, he has been called away.”

“I suppose you are glad of it?”

“Why should I be?”

“When the cat’s away, the mice can play, you know.”

“This mouse does not care about playing,” said Gilbert, smiling.

“Gilbert is a model boy,” said Simon Moore, with a sneer.

“I never set up for one,” said John, in a tone of congratulation.

“I should say not,” sneered the book-keeper, who could not abstain from criticising even his cousin, in whose favor he was intriguing to oust Gilbert from his position. “However, I’ll say this for you, that you are not a hypocrite.”

“And I never want to be,” said John, virtuously.

Of course Gilbert understood that here was another hit at him; but he was discreet enough to understand that it would do him no good to notice it.

Presently John turned to go.

“Is there anything I can do for you, cousin Simon?” he asked.

“Not to-day,” answered the book-keeper, significantly. “You can look round again in a day or two.”

“All right.”

As John left the office, a small boot-black approached him.

“Shine yer boots?” he asked.

“Get out of my way!” said John, crossly, at the same time lifting his foot and kicking the boy.

“What did you do that for?” said the boy, angrily.

“Because I pleased.”

“Then take that;” and the knight of the brush swiftly touched John’s cheek with the dirty brush, leaving a black mark upon his assailant’s cheek.

John would have renewed the attack, but a chorus of laughter at his appearance drove him back into the office to wash off the black mark.

“I’ll wring his neck when I get a chance,” muttered John, angrily.

“He wouldn’t have touched you, if you had let him alone,” said Gilbert. “Why did you kick him?”

“Because I pleased. Mind your business, or I may kick you, too.”

“You’d better not,” said Gilbert, quietly.