As it was, Walter Clifford entered the office flushed with wrath, and eager to leave behind him the mortifications and humiliations he had endured.
He went to his own little desk and tore up Lucy Mailer's letters, and his heart turned toward home.

He went into the lobby, and, feeling hot, which was no wonder, bundled his office overcoat and his brush and comb into his bag.

He returned to the office for his penknife, and was going out all in a hurry, when Mr.Bartley met him.
Bartley looked rather stern, and said, "A word with you, sir." "Certainly, sir," said the young man, stiffly.
Mr.Bartley sat down at his table and fixed his eyes upon the young man with a very peculiar look.
"You seem in a very great hurry to go." "Well, I _am_." "You have not even demanded your salary up to date." "Excuse the oversight; I was not made for business, you know." "There is something more to settle besides your salary." "Premium for good conduct ?" "No, sir.

Mr.Bolton, you will find this no jesting matter.

There are defalcations in the accounts, sir." The young man turned serious at once.