CHAPTER XLII.
"ANOTHER MAN!"
In two days Haworth returned. He came from the station one morning, not having been home. He did not go to the Works, but to the bank and straight into Ffrench's private room.
The look this unhappy gentleman gave him when he saw him was a queer mixture of anxiety, furtive query, and amiably frank welcome,—the frank welcome a very faint element indeed, though it was brought to light by a violent effort. Haworth shut the door and locked it, and then turned upon him, his face black with rage.
"Say summat!" he ground out through his teeth. "Say summat as'll keep me from smashing every bone in your body!"
Ffrench gave him one hopeless glance and wilted into a drooping, weakly protesting, humiliated figure.
"Don't—don't be so severe, Haworth," he said. "I—I——"
"Blast you!" burst in Haworth, pitilessly. "You've ruined me!"
He spoke under his breath. No one in the room beyond could hear a word, but it was a thousand times more terrible than if he had roared at the top of his voice, as was his custom when things went amiss.
