A DOMESTIC DISCUSSION.
Randolph hurried home to tell his mother what he had heard about
Gilbert’s loss of employment. He knew well enough her feeling towards
his father’s ward to feel sure that it would be welcome intelligence.
“Detected in stealing money!” ejaculated Mrs. Briggs, triumphantly.
“Just what I predicted all along. I am not often deceived about
character.”
“I never heard you predict it, mother,” said Randolph.
“It was only because I did not like to speak against the boy,” said Mrs.
Briggs, only slightly discomfited. “I read it in his face the first day
he came here. I saw he was sly and underhanded.”
“Well, I didn’t,” said Randolph, who was less malignant than his mother.
“I never thought he would do such a thing. I didn’t like him, of course,
but still I thought he was honest.”
“I have lived longer in the world than you, Randolph,” said Mrs. Briggs,
sagaciously, “and I know that appearances are deceitful. I am not so
easily taken in as your father. He has been infatuated about this
disreputable boy. I hope the knowledge of the boy’s baseness will cure
him.”
“I suppose we needn’t invite Gilbert to my party, now?”
“No, of course not,” said Mrs. Briggs, with emphasis. “It would be an
insult to you to invite a boy convicted of theft.”
“Father may insist upon it,” said Randolph.
“Not unless he is bereft of his senses,” said Mrs. Briggs. “He has made
a point of it till now; but, of course, this will change his wishes.”
Randolph did not reply; but, notwithstanding his mother’s assurance, he
felt some doubts on the subject. His father was, in general, yielding
and easily managed; but, as is often the case with such men, he was, at
times, unexpectedly firm.
This conversation took place just before dinner. It was interrupted by
the arrival of Mr. Briggs, who went upstairs at once to prepare for
dinner. Fifteen minutes later they met around the dinner-table. By
arrangement with Randolph, Mrs. Briggs had reserved to herself the
pleasure of imparting to her husband the news she had heard.
“I have heard some news to-day, Mr. Briggs,” she commenced, in a
premonitory tone.
“Indeed, my dear! Pleasant news, I hope.”
“I don’t think it will be pleasant to you, though, I must confess, it is
only what I have all along anticipated.”
“You speak in enigmas, Mrs. Briggs. Will you kindly be a little more
explicit?”
“You are aware, Mr. Briggs, that I have always had a very unfavorable
opinion of your protegé, the Greyson boy?”
“You certainly have not concealed your opinion of him,” said her
husband, shrugging his shoulders. “Yes, I may say that I know your
opinion of him.”
“I suppose you call it prejudice,” continued the lady.
“Well, it certainly seems like it, not being founded on the knowledge of
anything to his detriment.”
“That was not necessary. There is such a thing as reading character. I
judged him by his face.”
“He seems to me to have a very frank, attractive face.”
“As you read it,” said his wife, contemptuously. “Well, this paragon of
yours has lost his place.”
“He has?” inquired Mr. Briggs, in evident surprise.
“Yes, he has, and I am not surprised to hear it.”
“Do you know why he was discharged?”
“He was detected in theft—stealing a large sum of money!” answered Mrs.
Briggs, triumphantly.
She expected that her husband would be overwhelmed at this disclosure;
but he asked quite calmly, “How do you know this? Who is your
informant?”
“Randolph.”
“What do you know of this, Randolph?” asked his father.
Randolph gave his father an account of his visit to the office of Mr.
Sands, and the information given him there.
“What do you say to that?” demanded Mrs. Briggs, in exultation. “Does
that change your opinion of your paragon?”
“I think there is some mistake somewhere,” said Mr. Briggs.
“Why should there be any mistake?” she asked. “Do you think Randolph
would tell a lie?”
“There are other ways of accounting for the mistake. I have no idea that
Gilbert is guilty of what is charged against him.”
“Really, this is absurd. You are perfectly infatuated with this boy,”
said Mrs. Briggs, angrily.
“Mistakes have occurred before,” said her husband, with provoking
calmness. “I will investigate the matter.”
“I don’t see what investigation is needed. The boy has stolen the money.
The book-keeper told Randolph so.”
“The book-keeper may be mistaken.”
“Not much chance of that.”
“Or he may have taken the money himself and charged it upon Gilbert.”
“Really, Mr. Briggs you are very perverse,” said his wife, impatiently.
“Because I am not ready to believe Gilbert a thief before he is proved
so.”
“After he has been proved so.”
“There would be no need of trials or juries if you were a judge, my
dear,” said Mr. Briggs, smiling. “You would be for sentencing the
unfortunate defendant as soon as the charge had been brought against
him.”
“Cherish your delusion as to the boy’s innocence as much as you like,
Mr. Briggs; but there is one thing which you will certainly concede.”
“What is that?”
“Gilbert Greyson must not be invited to Randolph’s party.”
“Why not?”
“A common thief—impossible!”
“But suppose he is wrongfully accused?”
“It is enough that he is accused, and probably guilty.”
“I will investigate the matter, Mrs. Briggs. If I am convinced that the
boy is innocent, he shall be invited.”
Mrs. Briggs was about to make an indignant protest, when the servant,
who had answered the door-bell, opened the door and ushered in the
innocent cause of the heated discussion,—Gilbert Greyson.