"
Roundjacket sniffed.
"Don't be sorry," said Verty.
"I cannot refrain, sir," said Roundjacket, in a tone of acute agony;
"it is more than I can bear. See here, sir, again: 'High Jove! great
father!' is changed into 'By Jove, I'd rather!' and so on. Sir, it
is more than humanity can bear; I feel that I shall sink under it. I
shall be in bed to-morrow, sir--after all my trouble--'By Jove!'"
With this despairing exclamation Roundjacket let his head fall,
overcome with grief, upon his desk, requesting not to be spoken to,
after the wont of great unfortunates.
Verty seemed to feel great respect for this overwhelming grief; at
least he did not utter any commonplace consolations. He also leaned
upon his desk, and his idle hands traced idle lines upon the paper
before him.
His dreamy eyes, full of quiet pleasure, fixed themselves upon the far
distance--he was thinking of Redbud.
He finally aroused himself, however, and began to work. Half an hour,
an hour, another hour passed--Verty was breaking himself into the
traces; he had finished his work.
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