His conception of the matter had
been somewhat hazy, and he had certainly made a mistake. But, as he
walked from his home to Quartpot Alley, he little dreamed of the
treachery with which he had been treated. "Has Phineas Finn been
here?" he asked as he took his accustomed seat within a small
closet, that might be best described as a glass cage. Around him lay
the debris of many past newspapers, and the germs of many future
publications. To all the world except himself it would have been a
chaos, but to him, with his experience, it was admirable order. No;
Mr. Finn had not been there. And then, as he was searching among the
letters for one from the Member for Tankerville, the injunction was
thrust into his hands. To say that he was aghast is but a poor form
of speech for the expression of his emotion.
He had been "done"--"sold,"--absolutely robbed by that wretchedly
false Irishman whom he had trusted with all the confidence of a
candid nature and an open heart! He had been most treacherously
misused! Treachery was no adequate word for the injury inflicted
on him.
Pages:
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439