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I'll have my seven thousand, every penny." Mr. Barnby subsided. The situation was clear enough. Herresford repudiated the checks, and it was for Mr. Ormsby to decide what action should be taken, and against whom. Mr. Barnby's personal opinion of the forgery was that it might just as well have been done by Mrs. Swinton as by her son.
He found her in a state of collapse on the hearth-rug, and lifted her up gently. He had no intention of telling her of Barnby's mistake, or of uttering words of comfort. In the thousand and one recollections that surged through his brain touching his boy, words seemed superfluous.
Barnby's accusation against his son's honor. The horrible, abominable suggestion of forgery. Everybody seemed to have been against the boy. How could Dick have forged his grandfather's signature? Herresford, who was always down on Dick, had made an infamous charge the result of a delusion in his dotage. It mattered little now, or nothing. Yet, everything mattered that touched the honor of his boy.
'Oh, then you must come and help us in the choir. 'Choir' seemed a grandiose name for the four Beechers and Mr. Quinn, but Marion, who had little experience of anything better, had no misgivings. 'I hope you sing tenor. I always long to have a tenor in my choir. Why, we might have one of Barnby's anthems at Easter, and we haven't been able to sing one since Mr. Nash left the bank.
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