CHAPTER XXXVI.
SETTLING AN ACCOUNT.
It was not until the week following that Haworth returned, and then he came without having given any previous warning of his intention. Ffrench, sitting in his office in a rather dejected mood one morning, was startled by his entering with even less than his usual small ceremony.
"My dear Haworth," he exclaimed. "Is it possible!"
His first intention had been to hold out his hand, but he did not do so. In fact he sat down again a little suddenly and uneasily. Haworth sat down too, confronting him squarely.
"What have you been up to?" he demanded. "What is this row about?"
"About!" echoed Ffrench. "It's the most extraordinary combination of nonsense and misunderstanding I ever heard of in my life. How it arose there is no knowing. The fellows are mad "
"Aye," angrily, "mad enow, but you can't stop 'em now they've got agate. It's a devilish lookout for us. I've heard it all over the country, and the more you say agen it the worse it is. They're set on it all through Lancashire that there's a plot agen 'em, and they're fur fettlin' it their own fashion."
"You—you don't think it will be worse for us?" his
